


A Map to Nowhere

by philos_manthanein



Series: Errors in Navigation [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-10-29 01:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20788154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Vergil is not sure how to deal with his most wretched son, V. Meanwhile, Nero and Dante are not sure how to deal with Vergil.Sequel to This Rusted Compass.





	1. Vergil

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, the sequel to This Rusted Compass. The chapters are split between POVs again, this time going Vergil > V > Dante/Nero. To help keep track, I will label the chapters by active POV. Hope you enjoy!

Crack. Split. The log fell away in two even pieces. Vergil grabbed another whole one from the pile. He positioned it at the center of the chopping block. Then he swung back the ax, arcing it forward with all of his strength. Crack. Split. 

This was not his chore. Dante was better suited for manual labor. So was Nero. At least the boy was more apt to complete his chores in order to get Vergil to stop talking to him. Dante would avoid it just to spite him, even if it meant they would both be freezing inside the house. But neither his brother nor son lived there anymore, so the responsibility fell to him. Again. As it always did. He was slower but more accurate. His cuts were more symmetrical. Made for a better burn. 

Not that Vergil absolutely hated chopping wood, or any of the necessary work that came with singularly managing his home. He could have hired staff if he wanted to. There was something repulsive about the idea of strangers touching his belongings; not to mention the threat of thieves that would undoubtedly take the shiniest trinkets with no appreciation of their true worth. He’d loathed to let even Dante claim a single antique telephone. He’d made an exception for Nero, but his son showed no interest in their family’s aging collection of priceless baubles. To this day Vergil couldn’t quite decide if he felt relieved or offended by that.

Vergil had become the curator of his family legacy, both in terms of wealth and blood. Whether he  _ wanted _ that distinction was irrelevant.

Gathering his fresh firewood, Vergil headed back up toward the house; meeting the gravel path that stretched between the back entrance and several outer buildings. His mother had always called their home “quaint”, an intentional understatement meant as a joke to be sure. The house was a mansion as old and picturesque as one would imagine a mansion to be. Vergil knew the style was specifically called Gothic Revival, though nobody beside himself seemed to particularly care.

The outer walls were built from two types of limestone with an elaborate, asymmetrical roof dotted with equally elaborate turrets. Every side held a share of chimneys, dormers, large gothic windows, and oriel bay windows. The property was once particularly manicured with topiaries and gardens. Now the forest encroached closer to reclaim the land. 

Father had mentioned the house had been a hunting lodge before it was converted some two hundred years previously. Vergil liked to allow nature to take it back - his mother had as well - with the deer and foxes and wolves winding about the autumnal trees and darting across the yellowed grass. All that remained of the gardens was a single glasshouse and a small kitchen garden. His mother’s pet project, which he dutifully kept alive. 

Someday the house would be swallowed up by the forest; long after he and his progeny were dead. Occasionally he wondered if Nero would ever have an interest in taking over the burden of his inheritance. Probably not. 

Opening the door triggered a rather loud but short alarm. It stopped beeping once the door was shut. Every door that led outside had such a sensor. Every entrance had a closed-circuit camera as well, which he’d taken care to hide or blend so as to not disturb the aesthetic of the home. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could handle security by sheer willpower alone. There had been a few brazen thieves before, but for the most part he’d been left alone. Still, he felt compelled to tighten things up once he’d become sole caretaker. 

If the family been this vigilant decades ago, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

Carrying the wood into the drawing room, Vergil deposited it into its designated spot to the side of the fireplace. He’d already gotten the fire started that morning with the few pieces that were already there. Tossing in another split log, he stood for a moment to let the heat warm him. All the other fireplaces were disused. No point in lighting them; the sheet-covered furniture wouldn’t appreciate it.

The crackling fire was a pleasant sound. What  _ wasn’t _ were the soft but clear footsteps he could hear coming down the hall. None of the door alarms had gone off. An intruder had slipped in while he was outside. 

Quickly, Vergil considered the location of his weapons. There were several hidden around the house, each meant for exactly this sort of situation. The closest was a katana - prized by his father - laying in a display case on the mantle. (Not any good against a firearm in theory, but Vergil was fast and likely more strategic than the average home invader.) Locked on the front, he pressed the secret button below the right hinge and the case popped open, swinging forward rather than back. Vergil reached in and grabbed it by the grip.

“That won’t be necessary,” Came a voice from behind him.

Vergil pulled the katana out and turned on his heel, placing his free hand on the scabbard to hold it in place. He slipped the blade out but only partially, stopping when he saw who stood in the archway.

A younger man, thin, with tattoos marring his pale skin. Black hair, dark eyes, and tattered leather clothing and sandals. Too airy for the weather. He was shivering; rather, he was tensely trying to hold back his shivering and failing. One hand gripped the crook of a cane, but he rested most of his body against the frame of the archway. In his other hand was a cuboid sort of camera with a strap that stretched back around his neck.

This was V, his  _ other _ son. His first time seeing him in person, having only Nero’s description to assist his conclusion.

V clicked a button on the camera. A bright, blinding flash scorched Vergil’s eyes and forced him to shut them tight. The camera hummed loudly as it spat the photo out. Vergil heard V chuckle. When he opened his eyes he still saw a large blue spot burned as an afterimage in his vision. But he could also see V waving the photo back and forth in the air, drying the instant film. Now the camera dangled from its strap, resting just below V’s sternum.

Then V leaned more against the archway, stretching his neck upward and sliding to stick his hip out. He regarded Vergil with a half-lidded, thoughtful stare. Holding the photo, V traced the corner of it along his smirking bottom lip.

“Hello, Father,” V’s voice  _ dripped _ .

Vergil’s skin crawled, but he didn’t lose face. He kept his hands on the katana, inching the blade out a little more. V was assuredly a threat. He’d stabbed Nero and stalked Dante. Vergil knew how to fight. He  _ would _ kill V if he had to, son or not.

But V didn’t move. Only stood there staring at Vergil like he wanted to eat him, and that disgusted Vergil on levels he hadn’t felt in many, many years. The warmer air must have settled into V, because he’d stopped shivering. V appeared to relax, a defiant coziness that he had no right to have.

“Why are you here?” Vergil asked through gritted teeth, staring V down coldly.

“To see you, of course,” V finally put the photo away, tucking it into some inner pocket in the duster-like vest he wore open, with no other top layer.

“ _ What _ do you want?” 

“A bath,” V laughed, “And then, perhaps, a conversation? We have so much to catch up on, after all.”

Dramatic. Every way V spoke and moved appeared calculated for theatrics. Vergil recalled that V had managed to escape a secured hospital ward. Clever and cunning, too. Likely more agile than the cane would suggest. 

“I won’t give you either,” Vergil kept his voice steady and serious, “You are a criminal. A  _ delinquent _ .”

“And  _ you _ are the  _ father _ of a criminal delinquent,” V said with a smile, then he held up a finger to point it once at Vergil before letting his hand fall, “The  _ deadbeat _ father of a criminal delinquent.”

Vergil felt a tendril of rage lick at the inside of his chest. Hot and consuming. It must have shown on his face; his contrite anger. 

“Oh, I found a nerve,” V’s smile widened and his eyes - deep and beautiful and disgustingly just like  _ hers _ \- darkened as they continued to meet Vergil’s stare. “Don’t you think you owe me an indulgence or two?”

“No,” Vergil replied, “Not at all. Not after what you did to Nero.”

V laughed again, venom this time. “I warned him. I only defended myself.”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, disbelieving. Nero could be violent, yes, but not without reason. The few times the boy had gotten into scraps at school Vergil had never felt compelled to punish him. Nero was usually in the right, even when others saw his violence as petty or spiteful. But Vergil understood it. That Nero took his acceptance as indifference was another story.

“He  _ threatened _ me,” V’s voice had an edge to it, “I told him if he tried to  _ kick my ass _ I would kill him. But I didn’t kill him, did I?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Vergil replied stonily. 

And then V’s shoulders sagged. He sighed, though it was more of a huff. A petulant, bratty sort of heave. It was similar to the way Nero would sigh when Vergil would lambaste him over his grades. V obviously didn’t enjoy that Vergil would not be easily disquieted by his dramatics.

“You’ll call the police on me, I’m sure.” V said now sounding  blasé, and that too was an act.

“You’ll run away, I’m sure.” Vergil countered.

V’s smile returned and he inclined his head in affirmation. “Of course, but I would still enjoy a bath.”

“I thought I made myself clear-”

“Crystal,  _ Father _ ,” V interrupted him and his voice purred in a way that made Vergil’s stomach turn again, “But does it really matter? You call. I leave. I return. I use your facilities  _ anyway _ . With or without your permission. This is what I  _ do _ .”

Vergil couldn’t help but wonder how his son learned to behave in such a way.

“So allow me a bath, or don’t. Or do me the favor of ridding me this  _ disgusting _ carapace with that ridiculous sword of yours. Either way, I will indulge  _ myself _ .” V had the nerve to wave a hand dismissively at Vergil as he turned to leave, even daring to show his back entirely. 

“Katana,” Vergil growled indignantly, irritated in so many ways it was like he personally injected poison nettle under his skin. 

“Come again?” V asked, turning halfway to look back.

Vergil had already started moving before V spoke. He pulled the blade out fully and let the scabbard clatter to the floor. Then with that free hand he seized the camera strap around V’s neck. Yanking it forward and clutching it tight, he brought the sharp edge of the blade to V’s throat, so close that the  _ boy _ would cut himself should he so much as breathe too deeply.

“This is a  _ katana _ ,” Vergil seethed face-to-face with V.

It  _ mattered _ . It was one of the few things his father had left him that was  _ his _ and  _ his alone _ . Not shared with Dante. Not anomalously inherited as a collection to curate rather than possess. It was  _ his _ . Father had taught him alone its provenance. Vergil learned to wield it specifically  _ because _ nobody else could respect it the way  _ he _ did. He would not allow his own insufferable brat to disrespect it like he had everything else.

The straw that broke the camel’s back.

The throw-away word that put a blade to his son’s elegant throat.

Ridiculous.

“Would you, please?” V spoke softly, the bobbing of his Adam's apple scraping against the metal.

A red line, paper-thin, and tiny droplets of blood. Vergil watched them form. Just a scratch. One of many Vergil saw now that he was so close to V’s neck. No, those were scars. A dozen or so pink and white blemishes, some halfway hidden under the camera strap or the small collection of cheap necklaces V wore. A few of them must have cut incredibly deep when they were fresh.

Something warm against his face. A breath, falling against his mouth. Vergil raised his eyes and saw V watching him almost as intently as he had been studying the scars. V’s lips were formed into a soft circle, as if he’d been intentionally directing his breath at Vergil. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand and his chest wrung. Vile. His most wretched son.

Vergil lowered the blade, still glaring at V as he let go of the strap and stepped back.

“Go have your bath,” Vergil finally conceded, if only to get V out of his sight. “And then leave.”

Again V inclined his head, smiling deviously in victory. Then he turned once again and began walking away, limping along with his cane. Vergil watched until V was out of sight. V would likely find the restroom himself. Vergil spared a hesitant thought that the  _ wretch _ might try to steal something while he wandered the house, too. 

Sighing, Vergil picked up the scabbard from the floor. Carefully, he slid the katana back in, watching it for any hint of V’s filth as he did. Then he set it back into the case and closed it shut. Upstairs he heard the plumbing squeak to life, the sound of the pipes rushing with water. V hadn’t spared much time to do anything more than seek his much-needed bath. That put Vergil at more ease than he wanted to admit.

Silently, he followed the path V had taken out of the drawing room. Up the stairs, slowing his pace even more as he approached the bathroom. At the door he stopped. He listened, hearing the tub filling as well as V’s shuffling about. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Vergil seized his keyring. It jangled. V could have heard that. It didn’t matter. Vergil stuck the appropriate key into the door and turned. The lock clicked into place with finality. Beyond the door, Vergil could hear V chuckle.

V would undoubtedly find a way to leave, anyway. By climbing out the window or by picking the lock or by some other crafty means that the boy had picked up doing god-knows-what for the last 20-odd years. Regardless, Vergil would be prepared. 


	2. V

The water was too hot; steaming, nearly scalding V’s fingers when he dipped them under the rushing tap. He adjusted the temperature_ just so _, then stepped away to undress. First the camera. He set it carefully on the edge of the sink. Next, his top. Filthy thing. It reeked, but that was expected. He hadn’t been able to wear much of anything else in… Weeks? Months? It wasn’t like he carried a watch or seen a calendar recently. Even when he did wash himself he had to wear the same thing. Never fully clean. Fitting. 

At least he’d managed to scrub the blood out after he left the hospital.

Dropping his top and soon his sandals and pants into the same lump on the dark herringbone tile, V took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. The natural lighting of the bathroom was flattering; a soft glow due to the grey clouds that obscured the sun, coming through curtainless iron-framed windows and reflecting off pure white walls and fixtures. Even with his skin bespeckled with grime he looked pretty. And unusual. And so hideous, too.

Urizen could never decide, either, whether V was beautiful or disgusting.

V reached to his throat. He pulled off his accessories - neck and wrists - and set them carefully next to his camera. Then he took a moment to trace a finger over the bright red scratch. His newest wound. Inflicted by his newest father. It remained to be seen if he was an improvement over the last. Vergil was decidedly and undeniably beautiful, though. Mother had good taste. Too bad she didn’t have good sense.

The bathroom door clicked, locking shut. V chuckled. Interesting. He _ had _ made Vergil paranoid after all. Good. 

V turned back to the tub. It sat just under the three windows sharing the wall opposite the door. The middle panel was taller and the ironwork was slightly ornate, criss-crossing through the glass. It was pleasing, just as the stark white claw-foot tub was. Vergil had good taste, too.

He found the water a bit too hot still, but that didn’t stop V from sinking down into it. Relief flooded him instantly. It had been so long since he’d taken a proper bath. Not a shower or a sponge bath or a desperate washing with paper towels in the unhygienic bathroom of some convenience store. This was _ delightful _ and V fully intended to _ enjoy _ it for as long as he could. Perhaps he would even make the police break down Vergil’s pretty little door in order to drag him out naked and sopping wet.

The window sill was inset enough to hold a small arrangement of soaps, gels, cloths, and towels. The soaps were still wrapped up in floral-printed papers - unused - with rightfully luxurious labels describing their scents. Small bottles of gels stood next to these, each one also fantastically labeled and fully sealed. The washcloths and towels were folded neat and plush. It looked more a composition meant for decoration than practical use. V decided to help himself anyway. 

After submerging his head enough to wet his hair, V cracked open one of the sealed shampoo bottles. Lemon and honey. Not an overwhelming or too-artificial scent, either. He lathered it thickly into his poor, suffering locks.

He rinsed out his hair then reached for a bar of soap. Tossing the wrapper onto the floor, V sniffed it and found it pleasantly rosy. Much better than public restroom hand-soap. Better than the generic bar soap Fath- _ Urizen _ used. V would never forget _ that _ smell. And taste.

V took his time scrubbing - first his face and then moving down - grimacing at just how dirty the once-pristine wash cloth became. His tattoos did much to cover up the filth on the rest of his body. That’s what they were meant to do, he supposed. A mask for the blemishes, inside and out. Something nicer to look at than the sometimes-accidental brands left by Urizen.

His very first act of rebellion, those tattoos. It had taken days to get them fully inlaid into his skin. Cost quite a lot too, but _ oh _ the artist had been so handsome. So generous, too, allowing V to pay _ the way he did _ without spending a single dime. 

He took care with his left ankle, massaging it for a while after he’d scrubbed clean. The water was filthy and he would rinse off again, but the rub felt good enough to make him pause. It ached. It always ached, but the pain was exceptionally intense now that he’d been travelling for such a time. The break healed wrong and stayed wrong for the last 10 years; meant to be a leash, to keep him from straying too far.

“All of your plans,” V muttered quietly, “They never went how you wanted them to, did they?”

A thought spared for his dead step-father, and himself.

There was a standing shower set into the wall on the other side of the sink. V decided to use that to rinse himself off while the tub drained. It had been a good stretch of time since he first entered the bathroom. Perhaps the police were slow to arrive so far out in the country. _ Or... _ Could it be Vergil had not called them yet? Interesting, if true.

V dried himself with one of the towels, finding its softness enjoyable against his refreshed skin. A collection of toothbrushes in a cup sat near the faucet. It was hard to tell if they’d been used at all. Being a _ beggar _, he chose one and rinsed it thoroughly. Then he scrubbed his mouth clean with some toothpaste he found in the cabinet behind the mirror. 

He looked disdainfully down at his pile of rotten clothes. What a shame, he felt so clean. Now he would have to slide right back into his stinky, inglorious rags.

Or did he? A mansion like this must have had a trove of perfectly clean and whole clothing. Generations of it, probably. Vergil would most certainly not allow V to have his pickings. But V most certainly did not care what Vergil would allow. So he wrapped his towel around his waist and bent down to fetch his own keyring from the pocket of his filthy leather pants. Not real keys, not a single one of them. Tools, for doors you didn’t have the keys for. 

Grabbing his cane - cheap thing, not like his lovely custom one they confiscated - he hobbled over to the door. An old lock, easy to pick. Vergil could have been on the other side, waiting for him to do this. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time V allowed himself to willingly fall for a trap. He wondered if his father would drive that lovely _ katana _ through him the moment he opened the door.

Nothing. The balcony hall was empty. Good news, maybe. Then again, maybe not. Where _ was _ Vergil? V glanced around a little more, but caught no sight of his reluctant father, not even when he looked down over the railing into the foyer. He was likely lurking around, _ somewhere _. That was a little exciting. Time to be the mark rather than the spy, for once.

V kept his keyring around his index finger, spinning it noisily around as he shuffled barefoot over the polished wood floor. His bare skin went tight with goosebumps from the cold. Thick steam had followed him out of the bathroom. His arms steamed too, he saw. Better find some clothes soon, he thought. Before Father decided it was time to toss him out.

A bedroom at the northeast corner of the balcony loop caught his attention. Unlike the other doors, this one was plastered over with a variety of posters and signage. Adolescent interests like bands and bikini-clad girls. Nero’s room, surely. Interesting that Vergil allowed his brother such custom reign. The door threw off the elegant aesthetic. So, Vergil did have a modicum of care for what pleased his son.

Stupid Nero, throwing that away. Stupid Dante, too. Two idiots, in love, infecting each other with their lunacy.

Would Vergil give V enough time to show him the photos? V thrilled to imagine the expression on his father’s pretty face when he realized the terrible extent of Nero and Dante’s affections for one another. He would destroy them both. It was going to be _ fabulous _.

But first, new clothing. The bedroom door opened easily - not a squeak of a hinge. Inside was a typical boy’s bedroom, though V was surprised to see it so clean. He’d imagined Nero would be more disorganized, judging by the way he usually dressed. But the bed was made neatly and his belongings were all shelved and orderly. The decor was predictably navy blue and red. More posters papered the wall near the headboard, with some even taking up space along the curve of the ceiling. There was a white desk on one side of the bed, a night stand on the other. Opposite the bed was a plain white chest of drawers. 

Modern, V thought. Not like the rest of the house with its fine collection of vintage furniture and artifacts. Nero’s room was decidedly in-the-now. Vergil had _ allowed _ that. Nero likely never even appreciated it.

How much effort had their father spared to make Nero feel at home, only to have the ingrate leave it all behind?

If it had been V, then…

Shaking off that thought, V approached the dresser and set his keyring on top next to a stack of comic books. Pulling open the top drawer he was pleased to find some remaining articles, though these were mostly undergarments. He quickly selected a set and tossed them onto the bed behind him. Then he searched the next drawer - this time tops - looking for something warm.

“I told you to leave,” Vergil’s voice was loud, stern, and sudden enough to make V flinch.

V gathered his wits hastily. He regarded Vergil with another sultry stare, because that seemed to disturb him as much as it had Nero. Clutching a thick woolen sweater in his hand, V coyly pressed it to his chest, smiling. 

“And I will, after I indulge myself.” V hummed. “Or would you rather I freeze out there? In the forest?”

“Would you prefer a jail cell?” Vergil countered.

V laughed. Vergil hadn’t quite _ stopped _ him. So he tossed the sweater onto the bed, then threw a plain dark blue tee to join it. Did all of Nero’s clothes have these horrendous holes ? Did his brother honestly rip and tear his clothes on purpose? Or was he just so clumsy? So heedless? Perusing the drawer full of jeans didn’t help stifle those thoughts.

“You say that, but they haven’t arrived. No sirens.” V commented as he held up a pair of his brother’s jeans to his waist, finding it just as saggy as the last. He folded it up neatly and put it back in the drawer.

“You aren’t his size,” Vergil pointed out.

V glanced to him again, seeing his father now leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Keeping an eye on him, but not _ stopping _ him. Strange. V felt an odd feeling of surprise twist inside his stomach. Still, he continued with his air of disregard. 

“_ Obviously _,” V huffed as he pulled out another pair, “I will make due. Unless you have something better?”

Then V curved his smirk and lowered his eyes, a finely honed salaciousness rolling across his tongue. 

“Or is it you’d _ rather _ see me in _ nothing _, Father?”

Vergil’s deep frown tickled V’s insides tremendously. Yes, it was disgusting, wasn’t it? But V was a disgusting boy, too. And his father was just _ so marvelous _, even when he seethed with revulsion. Especially then, in fact.

V’s heart did skip a beat, however, when Vergil suddenly stalked toward him. His father stopped just next to him. Then he bent down and yanked the bottom-most drawer of the dresser open. Peering down, V could see a small assortment of what appeared to be pajama bottoms and sweatpants. Articles more likely to conform to his frame than Nero’s jeans.

How bafflingly thoughtful. 

Vergil stood back up straight and stared at V. Still cold. Still reviled. So, why? Why this ridiculous, terrible kindness?

“You will choose _ one _ outfit,” Vergil directed, “And then you will leave this room alone.”

This room… But not…?

V’s expression slipped. Just a moment. Just enough for Vergil to pick up on his confusion. His weakness . It was V’s turn to feel offended by himself.

“Your room will be across the hall,” Vergil explained, simple and clear and so utterly - _ utterly _ \- nonsensical.

“Harboring a fugitive are we?” V asked, pulling his figurative mask back into place. “And to what do I owe this sudden change of heart?”

“I prefer to solve my own problems,” Vergil replied.

A smirk touched V’s lips. Stubborn, his father. Stubborn and idiotic. What a deplorable trait to run in the family.

V stepped closer and Vergil’s glare deepened. He inclined his head at his father, leaning close. Vergil took a step backwards, still holding V’s gaze with open irritation. But V smiled a winner’s smile. 

“Are you so sure I’m a problem that can be solved?” He cooed.

“One way or another,” Vergil replied.

Chuckling, V took a step back and placed one hand at his waist, grabbing at the twist in his towel while the other supported his cane. Then V licked his tongue over his own teeth, making sure Vergil saw. Pulling the towel apart, he let it fall at his feet, leaving him stark naked in front of his father, who clearly tensed and fumed but didn’t look anywhere but into V’s eyes.

“Go on, then,” V dared, gesturing his hand down along his body, offering, “Fix me, _ Father _.”

Vergil snorted, then shook his head. Then he turned away. He stopped only grab V's keyring off the dresser and shove it into his coat pocket. V watched him exit, leaving V standing alone and naked in Nero’s former bedroom. Disappointing. 

But, _ oh _ , this would be more fun than V _ ever _ imagined. 


	3. Nero

“Anyone ever pick up that order?” Nero asked, nodding toward the three boxes sitting on the counter.

Nico was out “sick”, so this time Kyrie was helping him close up the store. (Nero highly doubted Nico was actually ill, because she’d been talking about this band she liked coming to town for the last two weeks and then _ suddenly _ she’s sick on concert day? Psh.) Kyrie shook her head as she diligently counted out all the cash from the register.

“No, did you want it?” She asked.

“If you don’t?” Nero counter-offered as he stowed away the last of the perishable topping bins in the industrial fridge. 

“I had pizza yesterday,” Kyrie replied as if eating pizza or something related to pizza everyday wasn’t normal.

Well, it wasn’t. But hey, _ free pizza _.

“Dibs, then.” Nero announced, walking over to take a peek inside the boxes; breadsticks, cheese sticks, and one medium supreme pie.

“Oh! Before you go,” Kyrie turned to him, “I have to show you my new baby!”

“Oh yeah,” Nero recalled her talking about it when they clocked in.

Kyrie walked over as she dug into the pocket of the silky floral print jacket under her work apron. She pulled out a small group of photographs. Grinning, she held them up for Nero to see.

“Isn’t she _ adorable _?!” She bubbled.

In the center of the picture was a light orange cat, stretched out long in a sunbeam on a brown rug. The cat was obviously adult-sized, and it had some patchy white fur on its face and chest. Probably an older cat, Nero thought. Kyrie had mentioned she’d been rescuing more elders over kittens recently.

“Gotta say, pretty cute for a granny.” Nero teased as Kyrie swapped another picture. 

This one showing the orange cat playfully batting at a grey kitten while another grey-and-black striped adult cat looked like it was about to pounce on her. The picture after that showed the orange cat wrestling the striped cat while the kitten looked on curiously.

“Never underestimate the power of an old lady, dumbass.” Nero joked and Kyrie laughed. “What’s her name?”

“I don't know yet. The shelter said she’d just been left in a drop-off point. They called her _ Orangey _.” Kyrie wrinkled her nose at the name. “Definitely going to change that.”

“Looks feisty, why not Killer?” Nero grinned.

“No, that’s terrible.”

“Tooth?”

“No!”

“Bulldozer-”

“_ No. _ Gosh, I feel sorry for your future children! You’re awful at this!” Kyrie giggled as she tucked her pictures away. “She _ is _ a little vicious, but she’s a sweetheart, too. If you’re patient with her.”

“So, Nico Junior then?” Nero offered with a more genuine smile.

Kyrie blinked. Then she took on a more thoughtful look, like she was seriously considering the name. She stayed quiet for a good minute, pondering, before finally nodding to herself.

“You know, that’s not half-bad…” Then she shook her head, “But Nico would _ never _ approve of that.”

Nero shrugged. “Hey, you never know unless you ask.”

“Oh, no. No I can’t do that. I’ll just think of something else!”

Kyrie suddenly looked… embarrassed? Her face went a little pink and her voice sounded nervous. Weird. 

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Nero announced as he picked up his newly-claimed boxes.

“Be careful out there!” Kyrie said with a wave.

“You too!” Nero called back as he headed for the back exit.

Outside was frigid. The news called for the first hard freeze of the year that night. Nero could see his breath puffing lightly in front of his mouth. At least the pizza was still pretty warm on his arms, soaking into his hoodie and sweater underneath. His thoughts turned to home, and how he could get Dante to warm him up. He smiled a little at his own imaginings.

The walk was quiet as it usually was that late. Nero had a little bit of trouble balancing his food on one arm while he dug out his key and unlocked the front door. It was pleasantly warm inside. Nero had started paying half the bills so Dante would keep the goddamn heat running. 

Finding the downstairs office empty, Nero went upstairs. There he saw Dante sitting at the dining table, flipping through some sort of book. Probably related to a case or something. When he saw Nero, he shut it closed. Nero grinned and carried the boxes over to the table, setting them down on the opposite end.

“Got dinner,” Nero said, “Well, someone forgot their dinner, but, y’know, now it’s _ our _ dinner.”

Dante didn’t reply, but that was likely because Nero so swiftly bent down to kiss him. Nero felt his chest swell with warmth as he took his uncle’s bottom lip between his, sucking softly at it. Dante returned the kiss with some slow pressure. But when Nero pulled back expecting the usual cheerful welcome home, Dante looked pained. 

“Woah,” Nero instantly felt a clench of worry, “Hey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Dante held Nero’s gaze for a moment, before sighing and picking up the black book he’d been flipping through. He handed it over to Nero, who took it in confusion.

“Got that in the mail today,” Dante explained tensely, “It’s from your brother.”

“Oh great,” Nero grumbled sarcastically, knowing it wasn’t going to be anything good, whatever it was.

Looking through the pages, Nero found an assortment of photos. Creepy stalker bullshit, classic V. Most were predictable. Lots of shots of Dante or local places, like V was saying _ Yes I was there, doesn’t it make you uncomfortable? _. Nero just clicked his tongue in annoyance as he passed the pictures of the bar V torched. Then he got to the pages with pictures of himself and his anger rose more.

“It gets worse,” Dante warned him.

Nero glanced at Dante a moment. He felt the anxiety swelling, not just inside his body but in the very air around them. Looking back to the album in his hands, Nero flipped the page. 

“Goddamnit,” Nero seethed as he looked over the salaciously intimate pictures of him and Dante, “That little fucking _ bitch _.”

Dante chuckled a little at that. “I dunno how he did it. Well, I guess if there’s a will there’s a way. But I don’t get _ why _.”

Nero turned to the last page and saw a photo of his father’s house, that big fuck-off mansion. If V was that close then it was clear what his intentions were: To tell Vergil everything. He slammed the book closed and tossed it back on the table in front of Dante. Then he pulled out the closest chair and sat down. Resting his elbows on the table, Nero scrubbed at his eyes with his palms.

His stomach twisted tumultuously, a tight wringing sensation that crawled up through his chest and throat. They’d worked so hard to keep it a secret. _ Nero _ had worked so hard, wanting to keep up a relationship with his father while also being with Dante. Yeah, maybe that wasn’t ever gonna be a plan that would last, but he’d hoped… He’d hoped. And with a handful of photographs his shithead fuck of a brother tore it all away.

“It was always a risk,” Nero finally said when he’d gathered his nerves again. “Right?”

He lowered his hands to look at Dante, who glanced back with so much sympathy Nero thought he might cry anyway. Dante was always the skeptical one. Always questioning Nero’s more optimistic hopes. Nero didn’t hate that; having a grounding force was a good thing. But he wished, in this case, that Dante hadn’t been right.

“Yeah,” Dante said, nodding, “There was always a chance Verg was gonna find out, one way or another.”

“V’s probably already told him,” Nero agreed with a painful sigh, then he reached across the corner of the table to tug at Dante’s wrist.

This wasn’t going to be the end of them. It hurt. It _ fucking sucked _, but Nero had accepted that their relationship was always going to be risky. Dante accepted that too. If they were all they had in the end, that would be enough.

“Yeah...” Dante said with a sad sort of smirk as he let Nero’s hand curl around his, their fingers looping together.

“Hey, at least Vergil hasn’t broke down the door or anything yet,” Nero joked weakly, then he pulled Dante’s hand up a little to kiss at the back of his fingers. “Maybe he’ll just leave us alone?”

Even as he said it Nero had doubts. He didn’t think Vergil would actually _ kill _ Dante. He’d worked so hard to save Dante’s life after Urizen shot him. Then again, that was before Nero and Dante got all romantic.

“Doubt it,” Dante snorted, “Not sure about you, but I think he’d be pretty pissed off finding out his piece of shit brother went and deflowered his only good son.”

“What if that son is totally and completely in love with said piece of shit brother?” Nero laughed and kissed the back of Dante’s hand again - finding comfort in his stress through touch.

“He’ll think I brain-washed you or something,” Dante shrugged. “He doesn’t have a reason to think anything but the worst.”

That was, sadly, most likely true. Which brought up an interesting point in Nero’s mind. The album likely didn’t get there overnight. It was impossible to tell how much time would have passed since V mailed it. Had V told Vergil before or after he sent the package? Regardless, there was a good chance Vergil had known before Dante received it. Yet neither of them had heard from Vergil. Not a call or a letter or even an enraged unannounced visit. If Vergil was _ that _ angry, wouldn’t he make that known?

Maybe things weren’t that dire. Maybe they were. Nero hated not knowing where everything stood.

“I wanna call him,” Nero announced.

“Excuse me, what?” Dante asked with justified incredulity. 

“I wanna call Dad,” Nero spoke strongly, “I gotta know, y’know? What he thinks, how pissed off he really is… If he still wants to be my dad at all?”

That last one stung, because he doubted it. Nero would defend his relationship with Dante to hell and back, even if it meant getting disowned by Vergil. He and Vergil hadn’t been close in the first place. So why did that prospect feel suddenly so painful?

“Alright, okay,” Dante squeezed his hand. “We’ll call. Well, _ you’ll _ call. He’ll just hang up on me. But I’ll be there, too. For moral support.”

Nero smiled, regarding Dante with some amusement. “And because you wanna know, too, right? How mad he is at you for _ deflowering _ me?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dante grinned then he let go of Nero’s hand and stood up.

Nero watched Dante stretch. Then he stood up, too. He turned to head for the stairs, but was stopped by his uncle grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He wound up pressed chest-to-chest with Dante. Dante caught his mouth in a kiss that made Nero’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’d do it again,” Dante said assuringly.

An airy laugh fell out of Nero. “Me too, stupid.”

Pulling away, Nero lead the way downstairs. He started feeling more nervous as he walked over to Dante’s desk, where his phone sat all ready to go. Was it weird to suddenly feel threatened by a telephone? Nero took a seat in Dante’s desk chair, scooting it up closer. Dante gave him a look that conveyed he hadn’t given Nero permission to sit there, but it was light-hearted and Nero had no intention of surrendering it anyway. He wiggled his butt in it just to prove that. Dante rolled his eyes, then hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk instead. 

They both stared at the phone.

“Well?” Dante asked, “Gonna get this over with?”

Nero nodded, reaching for the receiver. He let his hand rest on it, but didn’t lift it. Taking one deep, steadying breath, Nero blew it out hard enough to make his cheeks puff out a bit. Then, finally, he lifted it to his ear and started to dial in the mansion’s phone number.

For just a moment, Nero thought back to the night he was stabbed. How V had made him call all of Dante’s friends while he sat there bleeding out. V had wanted to save Dante, but not him. Nero still didn’t really understand that. But he flooded with the hope that Vergil was okay, because he also flooded with the dread that he wouldn’t be. 

The ringing stopped - and that was the first time he noticed the line was ringing at all - and Vergil’s voice answered in a terse greeting. Nero couldn’t help but feel relieved by that, at least. Vergil sounded normal, so maybe V hadn’t tried to kill him.

“Uh, hey Dad. It’s me, Nero…” Nero spoke carefully, trying to not let his voice betray how edgy he felt.

He apparently did a shit job, because the next thing Vergil asked was: “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Nero covered quickly, surprised and confused by Vergil’s concern. “Um, what about you? Are you… okay?”

A pause. Nero swallowed a little against the tension in his throat.

“Spit it out already, Nero.” Vergil said, “You aren’t the type to call just to chat.”

He had a point, Nero thought guiltily. He didn’t really ask his dad how he was feeling even when they lived together. But what was most unsettling was just how _ well _ the conversation was going. Vergil didn’t sound angry. He seemed mostly perplexed that Nero was calling at all.

“Right, okay,” Nero gathered his courage, “This might be a weird question but… Have you seen V?”

“I have,” Vergil replied so simply Nero thought he misheard, “He’s been here a few days now, in fact.”

“_ What? _” Nero’s voice was loud from the sheer bewilderment he felt, “What’s he doing there?!”

“Reading, at the moment.” Vergil’s tone maintained its calmness, as if nothing bizarre was amiss. “He’s taken to the poetry anthologies.”

“Okay, hold up, just…” Nero rubbed his hand over his forehead, trying to make sense of what was going on.

From his spot on the desk, Dante looked down at him with a startled sort of look. He could only hear half of the conversation, but it must have been enough to tell how weird it was going. Nero looked up at Dante. He could only give a sort of shrug.

“_ Why _ is he there? Has he done anything, like, weird?” Nero continued, trying to feel out just what the fuck was happening.

“He’s plenty _ weird _,” Vergil replied, “He’s not done anything overly dangerous, yet, however.”

It was becoming clear that, for whatever reason, V had not yet told Vergil about the relationship with Dante. Why not? What was he up to? Nero felt his head swimming and now it was with a healthy dose of anger.

“Why’s he just _ hanging out there _?”

“Because I told him he could stay,” Vergil answered like Nero asked him what the fucking weather was like. 

“Oh my god- Are you fucking nuts?!” Nero lost what little cool he had, “Did you forget he tried to KILL me?!”

“No, I remember clearly,” Vergil was still calm and that just set Nero off more, “I also recall he has a penchant for vanishing when cornered to answer for his crimes.”

“So, what? You gonna put him under house arrest or something?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Nero shouted, his hand gripping the phone so tight the antique casing was in danger of snapping.

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Vergil said thoughtfully.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-” Nero sighed in exasperation. “I’m coming out there.”

“You are?” Vergil’s voice inclined a little, the first hint of real emotion in the whole damn conversation.

“Yeah, I am! And I’m bringing Dante with me!” Nero growled and pointedly ignored Dante’s sudden flailing of arms and mouthing of _ No! No no no nononono- _

“Shut up!” Nero shouted, intending it to cut off any protest his father would give, but it had the added bonus of keeping Dante quiet too. “V’s a psychopath. He’s fucking _ bonkers _ , Dad. You can’t just fix him like he’s a goddamn clock! He’s an arsonist! A robber! He fucking _ stabbed _ me!”

Nero’s voice broke, then, overwhelmed by the power of his heightened stress. He worried about Vergil. He was confused. Because V was so dangerous and Vergil apparently didn’t care and Nero couldn’t - _ could not _ \- understand _ why _ . And even if it meant that he’d piss off his father and very possibly get stabbed _ again _ by his brother, he would get to the bottom of this clusterfuck.

“So, yeah! Yeah, Dad, _ we’re _ comin’ out there! Try to not let my dipshit brother _ murder you _, you dumbass fuckwit.”

He slammed the receiver back down on the cradle so hard it made the bell inside it chime. Nero sat there and boiled. So enraged the heat of his anger prickling across his scalp. Every muscle inside him went tense. His hands clenched into tight fists on Dante’s desk and his shoulders hunched up close to his ears.

“Good talk, kid.” Dante finally spoke, which earned him a viper-like glower from Nero. “You realize you kinda just gave V more reason to tell him now, right?”

Nero felt his heart plummet. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he did. Maybe the reason V sent the photos was a warning - blackmail - for them to stay away. But that wasn’t his priority now. 

“If Dad finds out then he finds out,” Nero opened his eyes again to look up at Dante, “And we’ll deal with it, right?”

Dante had to have heard the pleading that scratched in Nero’s voice, because his expression softened then. He slid off the edge of the desk and rounded it to Nero’s side. Nero sat back in the chair, making space for his uncle to slide between him and the desk. Then Dante bent down to take both of Nero’s hands, gently holding them.

“Of-fucking-course we’ll deal with it, stupid.” Dante teased lightly, smiling and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Nero’s hands.

Nero felt his shoulders relax a little. His raging pulse started to come back down. And the reality of what he’d said to Vergil started to settle in.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” He said awkwardly, “I sorta dragged you into that fight. You don’t actually have to go with me.”

“So you’re really gonna go out there?” Dante asked.

“I gotta, I said I would.” Nero shrugged, “Plus I think if I called the cops it’d be more dangerous. V might flip out.”

“Might flip out if we show up, too. Could flip out if Vergil tells him we’re coming.” Dante added and Nero didn’t miss the fact he deliberately used the word “we”.

“Yeah it’s… This’s a mess. It’s such a fucking mess, Dante.” Nero answered, not trying to hide how tired and sad the situation made him feel.

“It is,” Dante agreed, then he tugged at Nero’s hands, encouraging him to stand up. “C’mon, it’s late. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Nero let Dante help him up. Then he wrapped his arms around Dante’s neck and kissed him. Long and deep. Refreshing. His grounding force.

“I love you, stupid.” Nero whispered against Dante’s mouth.

Dante smiled. “Stupid loves you, too.”

Nero laughed, feeling the joy leaking into all of the dark and suffocating parts of him. He grabbed Dante by the wrist and tugged him along toward the stairs. Sleep would be good, if he could get some. But even if he couldn’t laying with Dante would be enough. More than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a danero roadtrip chapter in y'alls future, just sayin'.


	4. Vergil

For a moment, Vergil just stared at the phone receiver in his hand. It had been awhile since he’d received an outburst like that from Nero. The boy had mellowed out considerably after high school, though he was always a bit mouthy. Vergil expected this on some level, however. Once the conversation turned to V he knew Nero wouldn’t take it well. What he didn’t expect was the sudden proclamation that Nero would soon be visiting, and dragging his uncle along, too. He was sure he had as much disdain for that idea as Dante would.

Vergil could admit that this situation was… unusual. So much so that he wasn’t quite sure what _ exactly _ he was aiming to accomplish. But having V under his watch was better than having his stab-happy self out in the wild. 

No, that wasn’t the whole truth. Vergil could have easily called the authorities. Explaining the situation, he could have arranged for a quiet, surprise pick-up. Even if V managed to escape, they would at least know he was in the area. That is what he should have done.

He stared at the phone.

He returned the ivory receiver to its red brass cradle. 

Vergil walked down the hall to the drawing room. This was the room he spent the most time in, with the library being a close second. But the library was more spacious. Difficult to heat and impractical to do so, anyway, for just one person. The drawing room was more cozy, with its muted walls, dark arabic carpets, and set of two squatty green living chairs. 

The walls held a collection of paintings, each spaced evenly from each other. They depicted mostly landscapes, save for the one that hung over the white marble fireplace. A portrait of his parents, Sparda and Eva, dressed in their Lord-and-Lady best. They had taken pains to make the style akin to the much older family portraits that dotted the rest of the house. Vergil appreciated that sort of attention to detail.

The chairs didn’t match - not even the same shade of green. Over the years he’d considered reupholstering them to a color that agreed more with his personal tastes. Perhaps a nice dark blue? But, as always, there were more important issues to focus on. Such as his son’s current lackadaisical position in the rightmost olive-colored armchair.

V laid horizontally across the seat, with his back propped against one arm and his bare feet pressed against the other. His cane was propped against the same side as his feet. Curled up with a red leather-bound book in his hands, V read it intently as if he were savoring and digesting every word. A small pile of books sat on the oak wood side table next to his chair. Today’s course appeared to be Shelley. 

“Sit up properly,” Vergil instructed from the archway.

That seemed to startle the younger man, though he quickly relaxed as he looked over to Vergil. Stretching out his legs and arms, V intentionally arched his back and let his sweater ride up. It couldn’t have been comfortable, that pose. V regarded him with that same suggestive low-lidded look he always did. Vergil was growing resistant to it, knowing it was meant to make him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t give V the reaction he wanted; indulging a _ child’s _ manipulation would only make such behavior worse.

Vergil crossed the room to take the second chair. It was positioned at an angle to the other, both diagonal to the fireplace. The fire crackled warmly and its light danced over the floor and furniture with a healthy orange glow. V still didn’t rise to change his position, though he did fall back into his likely more comfortable curl. 

They gazed at each other; V in amusement and Vergil with sober appraisal. Vergil tried to understand V. The problem - he began to realize - was he assessed V in the same way he’d assessed Nero. It wasn’t fair. Nero had experienced the world in a way so different from V. While Nero had been passed around from hand to hand, V had been locked away with only his not-father to rely on. Nero’s rage and defiance was objectively justifiable. V’s behavior was not. Not yet. It was difficult to imagine it ever would be.

Perhaps _ that _ was why Vergil ultimately let V stay. Not for a house arrest or even to enact some revenge for Nero’s suffering (as unpleasant as that was to admit). He simply wanted to understand his disastrously broken son. One could take apart a clock to study its mechanism, even if it was beyond repair.

“Do you enjoy what you see, Father?” V smirked and raised his head a little, stretching out his elegant scarred and tattooed neck. The pink katana scratch had almost disappeared.

“Not particularly,” Vergil replied coldly. 

Despite his knack for licentiousness, V had yet to actually pose any real threat to Vergil. The boy stayed in the house and didn’t get into trouble, as far as Vergil knew anyway. He mostly lazed about the drawing room while Vergil took care of his usual business. He didn’t complain when Vergil offered him a second outfit from Nero’s leftovers, though it was just a wine red track suit with Nero’s school emblem stitched onto the back. (Vergil considered finding V at least one set that _ didn’t _ belong to his brother, lest Nero burst into histrionics and tear V to pieces the moment he arrived.)

Sometimes V would wander down the hall to the library to fetch books. Vergil didn’t mind. Nero rarely read anything other than comics outside of schoolwork. Dante had enjoyed being read to, but Vergil found that wasn’t out of interest in the material and had everything to do with Dante’s unhealthy obsession with _ him _ . It was oddly refreshing to see _ anyone _ appreciating the library at this point.

V moved, setting the book he’d been reading on top of the others on the table. He swung his legs over and finally sat up the right way in his chair. Vergil watched as he stretched this way and that; actually working out the stiffness in his back over the showy suggestiveness earlier. Then V stood up.

He walked across the short space between their chairs. That provocative air returned full-force in the way V swayed his hips - fighting his limp, Vergil noted - and suckled on his own lower lip as he looked down at his father. V smiled with a poison-thick coyness. 

“Should I give you something more satisfying, then?” V implied as he slotted his left knee along Vergil’s side on the chair cushion.

When it appeared V intended to slide the other leg onto the opposite side to straddle him, Vergil firmly jammed a hand flat against V’s chest. V stopped moving, but he didn’t stop smiling.

“Why are you doing this?” Vergil asked, though he suspected he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“I live to please,” V chuckled darkly.

There lay history in that tone, Vergil observed. As if V had told a joke to himself, something only he understood. V learned this behavior from Urizen. Its purpose was starkly and repugnantly clear. 

“What did he do to you?” Vergil’s eyes narrowed in spite of himself, an ounce of terrible understanding.

V’s mask broke just a fraction. His gaze shifted and his smile faltered, but it all came back in an instant. Unable to press forward, V lifted a hand to caress Vergil’s cheek instead. Calculated gentleness.

“Would you like me to show you?” V replied with a quiet sort of malice.

“What?” Vergil felt himself speak with honest surprise.

V gripped Vergil’s wrist with his free hand. He placed enough pressure to forcibly guide it an inch or so down his chest before Vergil made it stop again. Glaring up at V, his son let out a soft moan.

“All the things my step-father taught me to do,” V finally answered before blithely biting the tip of his own tongue. 

Vergil had tried not to react with anything but cold rejection, but those words sent a prickle of disgust across his skin. Not directed at V himself, but for having his suspected history confirmed. If Urizen were still alive, Vergil would have personally carved his head off with his father’s katana. It was shocking how strongly and suddenly protective he felt. 

“No, quit this foolishness.” Vergil said steadily.

V stilled again. His eyes searched, confused, but Vergil held his own stare firm. Then V sighed and stepped back. Vergil watched his son’s shoulders fall. And then, with expected drama, V sat himself on the floor at Vergil’s feet. Vergil couldn’t help but regard this choice with some faint annoyance. V brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“So _ boring _, my Father,” V droned, giving Vergil a petulantly sharp sort of glare.

Pouting, Vergil mused. A subdued sort of tantrum to rile him up. V was seeking a way to set Vergil off. He wanted Vergil to _ want _ to hurt him.

Vergil was fine with letting V mope. It was better than the alternative. They sat for a while like that, with only the fire crackling to fill the silence. Vergil noted the wood bin was getting low. He would have to chop more soon. After that his mind wandered to thoughts of his antique restoration work and how he would need to find time to stop by his shop to personally check in. He hadn’t gone by since V arrived. He still wasn’t exactly sure how to go about that, since he certainly didn’t trust V enough to leave him alone in the house for any extended time.

After a while, V became restless. He unfolded himself, leaning back and propping himself up with his hands behind him. Stretching his legs out in front, V’s feet almost came to touch Vergil’s. He still glared daggers at his father, and Vergil allowed himself some amusement at how ineffective the whole act was. 

“Why did you let me stay if you have no use for me?” V asked with a dose of sarcasm, though Vergil suspected there was some real wonder, too.

“You’re my son. That’s enough.” Vergil responded calmly. 

V inclined his head, thinking. But then he leered, his mouth curving into a clever, simpering snarl. 

“No, that’s not it,” V gibbed, “You’re _ lonely _.”

“Being alone does not equate to loneliness,” Vergil spouted an adage off the top of his head.

V was needling him again. If Vergil _ did _ feel lonely it was irrelevant. Affirming V’s suspicion would only open up a weakness for his son to latch onto. Vergil knew these tactics. When it came to manipulation, V took after his uncle. 

“But you _ are _ lonely,” V continued to press anyway, “And why not?”

With a laugh, V slid himself around, now getting up on his knees. He practically crawled over to Vergil, sitting himself between his father’s legs. Vergil watched this with annoyance, bracing himself for whatever abhorrence was about to come. But he would not act violently. That would only give V what he wanted.

“Mother abandoned you,” V began and Vergil felt a tension spread in his shoulders in spite of himself, “Dante betrayed you, Nero ran away… But I’m _ here _…”

V touched his hands to Vergil’s knees. His fingers were thin but his palms were so warm. Squeezing, V slid his hands slowly up Vergil’s thighs. He looked up at Vergil through his dark, thick eyelashes. Beautiful, but he would be. So tragically gorgeous, this defective son of his.

“I’m here and I can appreciate you in every way you deserve, Father,” V bit his bottom lip, letting it slide from between his teeth slowly, “I’d give you everything you want.”

Those clever hands, inching upward, thumbs tracing the inner seam of his slacks. Vergil felt his heart slam heavily in warning. He seized V’s wrists then. He pulled them up and away from his body. Still not violent, his grip steady but not threatening.

“What I _ want _ ,” Vergil’s voice struggled to keep level, “Is for you to _ stop _.”

V blinked at him - those stolen eyes - looking as if he’d been honestly hurt anyway. A thread pulled inside Vergil’s chest. What was this reaction? But once again V pulled his expression back into a crabby, bratty scowl. Pulling his hands back, V maneuvered himself back onto his feet.

“Very well,” V casually waved a dismissive hand behind him as he walked back toward the other chair.

Grabbing his cane in one hand, V picked up his pile of books with the other, tucking them up against his arm to keep them balanced. Vergil watched his son hobble out of the room, the look of displeasure never falling from V’s face. He listened to the soft clicking of V’s cane against the wood floors until it disappeared behind the loud slam of the library door.

Only then, when he was alone, did Vergil let out the rush of air he’d been holding in. His shoulders finally relaxed. That only made them hurt more from the release of tension. Reaching back, Vergil rubbed at one side of his aching neck. He rolled his head side to side a bit, finally daring to cast a glance downward.

He’d reacted to V in the worst way. Not with brutality but revolting desire. No matter how vehemently he kept up his defenses, he couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable swell of his cock. Well, he would _ have to _ ignore it, even if it took sitting there long enough to will it away.

Disgusting. Was he really so easily corrupted? He should have shoved V away instantly. But he’d felt so transfixed, so spellbound by V’s words and touch. He’d never experienced that before. He hated it.

Both of his hands went to massage either side of his neck. Vergil doubled over, resting his elbows on his knees. The mound of his half-hard cock shifted and it felt even more uncomfortable against the pressure of his body. It had been many years since he’d had to fight against this sort of thing. Vergil sighed, despising how utterly pathetic he must have looked. 

There was something wrong with him. Something wicked and vile. A demon.

And he called himself V.


	5. V

No wall in the library was without a shelf that stretched high to the ceiling. It was a spacious room, likely as wide as it was tall, taking up two floors worth of space. Each shelf was full of books, save for a few places where an odd statue or ornament had been shoved in. Those seemed to be intentional breaks to keep the books organized by subject or author. Large windows let in some sunlight, but it was impossible to fully illuminate the space without turning on the overhead amber-glass pendant lights.

It was a beautiful library. It was also horribly chilly. V pulled his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders as he read at a tiny wooden desk next to one of the windows. He’d shuffled in that morning intending to grab a couple new tomes to take back to his room. But he got distracted as he browsed through a particular compilation, so he ended up sitting down with it instead. 

There was a fireplace off on the eastern wall, all shuttered up. If he asked to use it, would Vergil allow that? He shook off the thought almost as soon as he had it. He still felt perturbed by Vergil’s rejection of him. That strange, particular, lonesome old man…

V wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of shame. Even Urizen, in his more thoughtful moments, seemed capable of regret. Touching and holding V so tenderly, so close to apologetic without actually saying the words. V enjoyed those reprieves, but they also made him uncomfortable. That Urizen knew remorse meant that _ what he did _ was worthy of shame. V’s entire self was wrapped up in Urizen; how he spoke and dressed, the way he was expected to act, the things they did beyond those padlocked doors. Urizen’s brief bouts of regret made V feel useless, filthy, and out-of-place. 

He’d spent his whole life trying to make that man happy. How would a real housewife manage? Would his mother had fared better if she’d just stayed with the lot she’d been given? It was difficult to imagine a picture book family life with a man like that. But maybe that had more to do with V being a poor substitute for his mother. If he hadn’t grown so resentful when he realized how abnormal his circumstance was…

His unusual upbringing did teach him some handy skills. Urizen liked V pliant and sensual. That behavior wasn’t readily accepted outside, but it worked in a twisted fashion to his needs. Like getting free tattoos, or a warm bed for a night, or terrorizing his newfound bloodkin. 

Dante had been his target, but Nero ruined him. So, Vergil, then. But Vergil refused to be swayed.

If V didn’t work quickly, soon his father’s hospitality would wane. That there was any hospitality at all was peculiar. V struggled to figure out the truth behind it. Vergil’s cold accomodation was curious enough to make V halt his former plan to expose Dante and Nero, for the time that such accommodation was still given. He’d be a fool to turn down a free, warm bed. Though he’d like it more if it were Vergil’s. Things would make more sense then.

The library door swung open and the movement startled him. V realized he’d been staring, unfocused, on the same page for a long while. He decided to shut the book as his father walked into the room. Vergil carried a small pile of folded clothing to the reading desk and set it down in front of V, on top of the book. V looked over it curiously, noting it was another full outfit.

“Put this on,” Vergil said, then added, “In your room, preferably.”

V smirked. V _would _ be tempted to start undressing in front of Vergil. He thought he might do so anyway, though that would probably just make Vergil leave.

“Your generosity abounds,” V commented. 

He already had two outfits, the one he’d chosen and the one he wore to keep the chosen one from becoming too filthy too soon. This one didn’t appear to be one of Nero’s hand-me-downs, however. No rips or holes. A nicely pressed dress shirt, soft sweater, neat slacks, and a thick wool overcoat. Underwear and socks, too. Everything but the white shirt was in dark shades of blue and grey. Something from his father’s closet? But these were a smaller size, V realized as he examined them closer. This had been chosen specifically with _ him _ in mind. 

V’s stomach ached suddenly.

“Get dressed,” Vergil demanded again, not angry but firm, “Then meet me in the foyer.”

“Why?” V couldn’t help but ask.

“I need to run errands in town and I won’t leave you here alone.” Vergil replied simply.

“Oh, Father,” V’s smile dripped with derision, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not an inch.”

V chuckled and leaned back in his chair. His severe demeanor was slightly compromised by the big fluffy blanket he’d cloaked himself inside. Still, he brought the cozy material even tighter around himself.

“You’d risk taking me out into the world? I’m a wanted man, you know.” V pointed out.

“Then refrain from drawing attention to yourself. _ You’re _ the one who made himself a fugitive in the first place.” Vergil’s tone became more impatient, which only thrilled V.

“And _ you _ are currently abetting that fugitive,” V laughed, “I can play this game, too! What if I refuse to go? Will you _ make me _ ? Would you _ force _ me out?” 

“Against my personal _ want _, yes, I would.” Vergil leveled him an annoyed stare.

So hesitant to resort to violence now, V mused. Since that first day Vergil hadn’t physically threatened V. Redirected his hands and body, of course, but not without undue force. It was disappointing in a way. Even getting strangled by Nero was exciting, if predictable. Vergil didn’t come across as a man that was cowardly or reluctant to fight in his own defense. So, why did he show V such extraordinary patience?

Against his personal want? He didn’t want to force V out. He _ wanted _ V to willingly agree to go. The emphasis wasn’t lost on him.

V held Vergil’s expectant stare. This was a test. V had told his father that he would give him anything he wanted. He didn’t realize Vergil would twist that around this way. To make him prove it wasn’t all for show. How aggravatingly cunning.

“I’m in no mood to be manhandled,” V replied dismissively, though he couldn’t help the double entendre that fluttered into his brain so he leered and added: “_ Well _…”

Vergil, predictably, did not react. 

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” V asked, “That you don’t intend to hand me over to the police?”

And then Vergil - who hadn’t harbored any emotion stronger than annoyance toward him - _ smiled _. Well, it was more of a smirk. A surprise air of arrogant playfulness that caught V completely off-guard.

“Don’t you trust me?” Vergil inclined his head.

V cursed the flustering he felt inside his chest from that look. Such a daft, smooth, brilliant father. Clicking his tongue against his teeth in annoyance, V finally stood up. He grabbed the stack of clothing and cradled it with one arm. Taking his cane from where he’d leaned it against the desk, V left the library. He could feel Vergil watching him with that amused expression the whole way out.

Taking a dose of his own medicine had never tasted so bitter.

***

The clothes fit well. Warm and not constraining, but not too loose either. It was the first time V could think of himself as “dapper”. The nice loafers Vergil handed him in the foyer were comfortable, too. They supported his ankle well. An all around thoughtful gift.

V couldn’t wait to take it off. 

The longer he thought and questioned it, the more that agitation inside him grew. It preoccupied his mind the entire car ride into town. He sat in the passenger seat fidgeting, tugging at the end of his sleeves and mindlessly bouncing his right knee. Staring out the window didn’t help. The grey skies and trees - later buildings - just blurred by. Vergil’s practical black sedan was quiet and the ride was smooth, which only made it more difficult to distract V from his aggravating speculation.

Vergil probably wouldn’t have dressed him up if he intended to turn V in. The clothes felt too broken-in to be entirely new. Plus, Vergil hadn’t left the house to go shopping - or do anything else - since V arrived. V concluded they must have been Vergil’s, likely from when he was younger. It felt strange to wear them, even though V had no qualms about wearing Nero’s clothes at all.

V decided he didn’t like gifts. He enjoyed _ exchanges _, certainly. Those usually involved his wits or his body, balancing often less in his favor but still a trade. 

Urizen had called him resourceful. His step-father used that as much as he could. V utilized his well-ingrained _ skills _ to give comfort to ally and enemy alike, pulling all their secrets out in moments of heady passion. Or he would abscond with deeply incriminating evidence once they’d fallen asleep happily drained. He would be _ rewarded _for this. Given what he craved most; Urizen’s approval.

No, gifts were terrible. Particularly gifts from _ Vergil _… V had done nothing to deserve anything from his father. Vergil should have been chomping at the bit to make him suffer. To inflict revenge for his near-killing of Nero. 

V _ did _ feel a small fleeting regret that time, when Nero had fainted from his blood-loss. His brother hadn’t done anything wrong, just gotten in V’s way. Stronger than V’s regret was his jealousy, and so he decided he wouldn’t care if Nero died. If V wanted Dante, Nero would have to go.

He’d become so obsessed with Dante once he learned the true reason why Urizen hated him. That the former detective wasn’t just some “shit-starter” but the impetus for V’s mother’s disappearance. And his uncle, besides. When V finally broke from Urizen’s clutches, he set his heart on learning all he could about Dante. Even going as far as stealing his records. 

He hadn’t intended to get Dante _ in trouble _ for that, but he wasn’t beyond using the problems he started as diversions to lure Urizen out for his inevitable demise. And Dante had been such amusing bait. V would have loved to reward him, had Nero not had the gall to survive. 

That’s right, he’d wanted to expose them as punishment. That was his whole purpose in seeking out his father. He wanted to ruin this entire loathsome family because his jealousy burned so fervently. So why, now, were his photos back in his room while he went on this little merry outing?

“Are you going to spend the entire time in the car?” Vergil’s voice grabbed V’s attention. “I don’t plan to leave anytime soon, and I won’t be leaving the heat on.” 

The car was parked in front of a shop with a dark wooden facade. Two windows on either side of the door held a plethora of old knicknacks. Cream-colored signage indicated it was an antiques store that also offered repair work. It looked suitably like an old shop that would sell outdated things, though every store that dotted that street looked just as weathered. 

Vergil was already climbing out of the driver side. V followed him out and into the shop. He tried to be cognizant of where he put his cane as he walked, because the inside of the store was rather packed with furniture and fixtures and all sorts of decor. Not exactly cluttered, there appeared to be clearly defined sections. But well-organized chaos was still chaos. 

V hung back just a little, as Vergil spoke with some elderly woman that sat on a stool behind the check-out counter. Even the cash register was an antique. The woman looked like she could have been as old as it. What a peculiar choice of employee.

After a few moments of letting V stand around and quietly judge the antiques, Vergil motioned for him to follow him further. V obeyed, carefully tailing his father behind the counter and into a back room. This was less organized, but also more sparsely stocked. There were some machines and tools further back, while the front had an odd assortment of items with handwritten tags attached. V turned a tag on one dining chair and read, finding that it was a repair request for one of the legs.

“I’m behind in my work,” Vergil said and V didn’t miss the unsaid: _ And that’s your fault _.

V huffed a little but didn’t reply. He watched as Vergil shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on a peg near the door. Then he started undoing the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up. He looked to V who gave him a weary expression, knowing that Vergil wasn’t kidding when he said he planned to stay for a while.

“Come here,” Vergil instructed as he lead V over to a scuffed-up and overall battered-looking table to the right side of the workshop. “Sit.”

V looked down at the metal folding chair that Vergil pulled out for him. Feeling a bit aggravated at being bossed around like a dog, V still plopped himself down. He propped his cane up against the edge of the table. It was going to be a long and tedious wait, he was sure.

But then Vergil went to one of the metal bracket shelves on the wall. He grabbed a steel toolbox and brought it over to the table. Leaving it there, he crossed to the opposite side of the room and picked up a large cardboard box. The bottom sagged quite dramatically, indicating just how heavy its contents were. 

V watched this with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as Vergil’s arm muscles flexed strongly to keep the box hefted all the way back to the table. It made the floor vibrate when Vergil set it down next to V’s chair. Peering down, V could see it was nearly full of old and sad-looking books.

“This is the reject box,” Vergil explained as he fetched a book with a green cover and worn spine. “They aren’t very valuable, even if they were in good condition. But they’re still useful.”

Vergil laid the book on the table in front of V. Then he reached around V to unlatch and open the toolbox. As he did this he stood close behind the chair. V could feel the heat of his father’s body radiating against his back. It was too nice. Too close. That frustrating fluttering kicked him in the stomach again.

“You’ll open it and look for loose pages,” Vergil directed as he opened the book as an example, flipping through carefully until a small bunch of loose pages came away from the spine, “Set those aside,” Vergil did so, ”Make sure you keep the pages in order.”

While this asinine lesson continued, V only felt more uncomfortable. Vergil was clearly unaware of how tense he was. That, or his father simply didn’t care. But V was reacting to Vergil in ways that wouldn’t have been so bad if he weren’t trying his damnedest to actually _ behave _. V tried to focus on watching and listening.

Vergil took a tall, thin tube of binding glue from the box and unscrewed the top from the nozzle. Starting from the top of the spine where the pages had been removed, he squeezed the glue out in a long, thin line to the bottom. V found himself distracted by the way Vergil’s hand flexed around the tube.

“Keep it steady, all the way down,” Vergil’s voice was so soft, like he truly admired this process, “Then smooth it out with one of these,” He picked up a popsicle stick from the toolbox and gently smoothed the glue to cover the spine, “After that, set the pages back in the spine.”

There was a pause there, expectant. V realized Vergil wanted him to take this step. Gingerly, V picked up the pages Vergil had set aside, aligning the top and bottom of the stack to the book. He tried to ease them in to keep them aligned with the spine. Vergil hummed behind him, then rested his hand on the pages right next to V’s. His fingers brushed lightly against the side of V’s palm as he checked the alignment.

“Good,” Vergil whispered his approval, and V felt like something inside him was going to die right then, “Now we close it,” Vergil moved his hand and so did V, then he slowly closed the book together, “Then we take this,” He plucked a rubber band from the toolbox, “And use it to hold the book closed until it dries.”

V watched Vergil stretch and then roll the band down the book’s cover. He felt overheated. How could fixing a damn book make him feel like this? But it wasn’t the repair process that had made him that way. It was Vergil. Stupid Vergil and his stupid testing of V’s patience.

“Think you can handle that?” Vergil asked, mercifully stepping back and away from the table.

“You’re putting me to work?” V sighed, hopefully making it sound sufficiently fractious and not at all like relief to be released from Vergil’s suffocating body heat.

“I’m having you earn your keep,” Vergil explained as he set the repaired book to the side on the table. “Or you can sit there doing nothing for the next, say, five hours.”

_ Five hours _? V groaned to himself. Vergil seemed to take that as close to an agreement as he would get, because he picked up another book and laid it in front of V.

“Why do you want me to fix these?” V asked in irritation, glaring up at his father. “You said yourself they have no value. Why would you have me repair something worthless?”

“Monetary value doesn’t always indicate worth,” Vergil explained, “These will be appreciated by someone in time. I wouldn’t mind having a few for my own enjoyment. Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate them for what they are, and what they could be, too. _ If _ you’re willing to work on them.”

V’s stomach ached again. He sighed and reached for the book. Flipping it open, he began looking for loose pages.

“Are you always so on-the-nose with your little life lessons, Father?” V grumbled as Vergil walked away toward the projects that awaited in the other corner.

“I don’t know,” Vergil replied, “You’re the only one who’s ever actually listened.”

***

It was raining by the time Vergil completed whatever orders he wanted to finish. V had made a significant dent in the reject box. Neat stacks of drying books laid on the table. The shop would still be open another hour or so. He indicated to his near-mummified single employee that he would return the next day to work more. V didn’t dread the prospect that he would return as well; the work _ had _ passed the time quickly. After cleaning up a bit, they’d left into a cold drizzle.

V didn’t feel as antsy on the ride back to the mansion. Perhaps working with his hands had tired his mind out. He watched the wipers swish back and forth on the windshield, finding their metronome effect somewhat mesmerizing. They were well up the road past the town when Vergil interrupted the silence:

“Your brother is coming to visit. He’s bringing Dante with him.”

A sinking sensation dropped through V’s chest. Suddenly his brain scrambled back to life. But V kept his cool, smirking shrewdly.

“Oh, then they know I’m here.” V replied slyly, knowing neither would feel so compelled to come unless it was for something this momentous, “And how long have you kept this little reunion a secret from me?”

“I needed to decide what to do with you,” Vergil explained, keeping his eyes focused on the road, “I had to see if you could behave yourself. I know you can, now.”

“How delightfully duplicitous of you,” V mocked.

“You _ will _ behave yourself,” Vergil’s tone darkened, warning.

“And if I don’t?” V teased.

“You will regret it as much as I will.” Vergil answered with finality.

V scoffed, but he didn’t say anything further. He slumped back in his seat and then stared out his window, musing against the blurry dark background of the trees and sky. This was an opportunity, wasn’t it? Something better than simply revealing the photos to Vergil. V could have his reckoning with all three obnoxious members of his family present. Watch them tear each other to pieces. Then they would tear him apart too. He could make sure none of them were happy. V’s misery demanded company.

So, why then, did he feel so disheartened? Why did he just wish Nero and Dante would stay away? Take his threat as a bribe and huddle together all scared but quietly in love. V would even consider throwing his pictures out, if it meant they would fuck off and leave Vergil alone. To leave _ them _alone. Let him keep Vergil to himself.

It finally dawned on him, what he really wanted. His jealousy and avarice had pivoted to something else. V turned his head slowly to look towards his father. Watching Vergil’s features highlighted in the multicolor lights swathed across the dash, V felt that stirring in his chest again. Warm and fluttering, similar to how he felt when he’d been rewarded for being “good”. But this was intense, unwarranted, and unstoppable in its spread.

He loved his father.


	6. Dante

Suitcases? Check. Snacks? Check. Gas? Full. Nero?

Dante glanced around the sidewalk for his nephew. He was probably _ still _ inside. Dante took a moment to check the tires on Nero’s truck, which mostly entailed going around to each one and kicking it to confirm that, yeah, yep, those babies sure have air in them. After that he checked on the tailgate, shaking it a little to make sure it was latched, just because.

Why a truck? Because trucks are cool, Nero had said. Dante thought that was a valid enough reason, too. Kid saved up the cash, he could spend it on whatever he wanted. Though it was admittedly a little silly; Nero didn’t haul anything more heavy-duty than an extra large pizza. Maybe his inner country boy cried for recognition and received it in the form of a used red 4x4 pickup.

Dante jogged back inside the office. Nero was sitting on the floor next to the jukebox. He had a collection of audio cassettes spread around him. Sitting between his legs was a clunky tape deck that was probably about as old as he was. (Some thrift shop score obtained a little while back.) Nero had it plugged into a jack on the back of the jukebox with a long cord, recording the current song on the radio. His brow was furrowed and his finger hovered over the stop button as he waited for the moment the song would end.

“We gonna leave sometime today? Or are we opening up a pirate radio station?” Dante asked as he stepped a little closer. “I got everything loaded up already. Better get out there before someone yoinks it all outta the back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming after this. Last one, I promise.” Nero waved him off.

Nero said the previous tape would be the last one as well. At this point Dante was pretty sure Nero was stalling. It wasn’t like Dante was looking forward to their impending meeting with V and Vergil either. But Nero was the one who had accidentally arranged this thing. Dante was just coming for moral support.

Kneeling down, Dante looked over the other tapes strewn around the floor. These were all in their little plastic cases with labels written in marker with such helpful titles as “Road Trip Mix”, “RT Mix #2”, and “Songs”. He chuckled and started picking them up to slot them into a little black travel case that sat nearby. By the time he finished, the song on the radio had ended and Nero masterfully stopped recording before the commercials blasted in. Nero scribbled on the label before he shoved the cassette in its case and handed it over to Dante. This one was called “Good Music”. 

“I take it creative writing wasn’t your best subject?” Dante teased, putting the tape in the case and then shutting the whole thing closed.

“Bite me,” Nero replied sarcastically.

Dante couldn’t resist. He leaned in closer - putting a hand on the floor to steady his kneel - and scraped his teeth just barely against Nero’s neck. He made sure his breath was heavy and hot against his nephew’s skin.

“Don’t tempt me, baby, or we’ll never get outta here,” He breathed and grinned when he noticed Nero’s visible shiver.

“Ugh, you don’t fight fair, asshole,” Nero complained then turned his head and caught Dante’s mouth with his own teeth, biting and sucking his bottom lip.

Goddamn. Dante wanted to call off the whole trip right then and take Nero directly to the floor. Spend those two weeks of vacation time totally fucking Nero’s brains out. That was _ way more _appealing. Dante should have been nominated for sainthood for his restraint. 

“C’mon,” Dante insisted gently after he pulled away, “Gotta get this over with.”

“Yeah, okay,” Nero sighed.

His nephew reached up and smoothed his thumb over Dante’s lip, wiping away his spit. Dante smiled affectionately then puckered his lips against the pad of Nero’s thumb. He was going to miss this. They would be together the whole time, but Dante still had a sense of departure. He already mourned for Nero’s touch.

They stood and Dante handed the travel case to Nero. He turned off the jukebox then the lights. One last glance around, then he stepped out, shut the door, and locked it.

Nero was already climbing into the driver’s seat. He looked more excited. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, this would be the first major trip Nero would take with his new truck. Dante felt happy for him, too. He was also a bit impressed, given it was a manual transmission. He wouldn’t be keen to drive clutch for over twelve hours, but Nero seemed thrilled.

After taking a minute or two to fiddle around with his cassettes, Nero finally chose one and jammed it into the radio. It was loud and predictably laden with heavy guitar, bass riffs, and a pretty moody dude singing/whining about something or other. It wasn’t bad, though Dante still teased Nero about it not being the “Good Music” tape anyway. Nero just socked him in the arm then started to drive. That was okay, it’d been a while since Dante had a fresh welt to bitch about. 

Surprisingly, Nero was a good driver. He was patient and lawful, even when some jackass cut him off on the highway on-ramp. Dante had cursed at the guy and flipped him off. Nero just laughed. Maybe he was just in a good mood, which was also kind of weird since he’d spent the last week worrying over the trip.

“You call Vergil?” Dante asked once they were well on the highway.

Nero nodded. “Yeah, I told him we were heading out earlier.” 

“And he didn’t try to talk you out of it?” Dante picked through the grocery bag full of snacks sitting between them on the bench-style seat.

“Really? We’re on the road thirty minutes and you’re already gonna pig out?” Nero scoffed.

“Hey my breakfast started wearing off somewhere between ‘This is the last tape’ and ‘This is the last one, _ I promise _.” Dante pointed out as he yanked a bag of potato chips free.

“Gimme some of those,” Nero demanded, holding out a hand but keeping his eyes on the road. “Dad kinda sounded, I dunno, okay with it. Almost like he was looking forward to it?”

“Well, he’s probably looking forward to seeing _ you _ anyway.” Dante ate some then deposited a few chips in Nero’s hand, “Here, you big hypocrite.” 

Nero grinned and shoved a couple into his mouth, chewing them down a bit before continuing to talk: “Doesn’t that say something, though? I mean he didn’t even complain about me bringing you. Maybe he wants to see you, too.”

“Ever the optimist, huh.” Dante sneered a little but not harshly. “I think he’s compromising ‘cause he wants you to come and play nice. Probably thinks me being there’s gonna keep you from going all Jason Voorhees on V’s Freddy Krueger or something.”

“Not that you would stop me,” Nero chuckled and finished off his handful.

“Hell no, I’ll kick that little bitch’s bitch-ass, too.” Dante smirked.

Neither of them could piece together why Vergil was harboring V. They’d spent so much time talking about it, theorizing, but nothing quite explained it sensibly enough. Dante suspected it had something to do with Vergil’s sense of responsibility. That’s what had driven him to seek out Nero and reclaim him. But V was far more psychotic and an adult, besides. Dante knew his brother was all about his own honor, but what was so honorable about sheltering a guy like that? Son or not, V was a nightmare, and Dante felt personally offended because that little shitbird had almost killed Nero.

The conversation fell away and Nero’s tape filled in the gap. Dante finished his bag of chips. Eventually he reached for another and Nero smacked his hand away, announcing they would just stop and get a proper lunch. (_ Not pizza, goddamnit Dante, I don’t wanna see another pizza for two whole weeks, shut the fuck up _-)

Burgers and fries weren’t bad. They ate in the car in the parking lot because the restaurant was packed. Dante enjoyed his strawberry limeade the most, even when Nero snatched it out of his hand to take a taste then pulled the most offended grimace at the flavor. Ice cream machine was broken _ of course _, so no dessert. He got a refill before they left.

Nero wanted to change tapes somewhere around hour four. He reached to the case to pick one but Dante pulled his hand away. (_ Focus on the road, moron, don’t think Verg’ll appreciate scraping us both off the pavement. _) Dante read off the the nonsense labels but Nero apparently knew each tape’s contents exactly, because he didn’t hesitate to say “that one” at Punky Shit #2. There wasn’t a #1. 

At hour five or so Dante drifted off, napping until Nero decided it was time to stop for the night. He felt guilty about that, so he offered to switch places so they could keep going. He wasn’t tired, after all. But Nero refused, reminding Dante he didn’t like driving manual. Nero said he mostly wanted to just get off the road for a while, so Dante stopped arguing. They picked up sandwiches at a gas station for dinner, then rented a cheap motel room.

Double queen beds, bottom floor, check-out by 11 AM. They would probably be out long before that. Dante carried both suitcases in, setting them at the foot of the rightmost bed. They’d barely hit the floor before Nero full-body tackled him onto the bed. Dante laughed loudly, because he’d expected something like this all along.

Pulling and tugging at Dante until he rolled onto his back, Nero snickered as he climbed on top of him. He kissed Dante breathlessly and yanked at his clothes, sliding his hands up under Dante’s shirt and making it bunch up around his chest. Dante grasped at Nero, too. Fingers in his hair, on his face, around his wrists, at his waist. Dante couldn’t decide where to touch, so he touched everywhere.

Nero rode Dante’s cock and it was fucking beautiful to watch. His nephew tried to be quiet, so careful, because this was dangerous even if the people in the surrounding rooms didn’t know who they were. But when Dante started fucking up into Nero - meeting each downward bounce with a violent upward thrust - Nero’s voice broke with a loud, uncontained shout. Nero flushed red and collapsed down onto Dante’s chest. He buried his hot face into his uncle’s neck. Dante pressed a kiss to Nero’s sweaty forehead, wrapped his arms steel-tight around Nero’s waist, and then drove up into him like a heat-seeking jackhammer.

They laid through the night pressed together. Nero curled himself against Dante’s back, one arm over his side and tangling with his hand near his chest. Dante could feel Nero pressing feather-light kisses to the back of his neck and over his shoulder; getting his fill that night, in every way. Dante smiled and fell asleep like that, letting his nephew be the big spoon.

In the morning they showered separately because the bathroom was so small. It was probably for the best, because if Dante got a chance to ogle Nero all wet and steamy he would have thrown the kid over the sink and filled him up all over again. Two weeks without this? Fuck.

“It’s not that long,” Nero chuckled when Dante pulled him into a hug right before they were about to head out. “Your needy ass can handle this.”

“It’s my needy _ dick _ I’m worried about here,” Dante complained, “He’s still in honeymoon mode.”

“Well tell _ him _ to get over it,” Nero joked, then he dropped down into a crouch to put himself eye-to-zipper with Dante’s crotch, “You hear that, you horny _ prick _? Be a good boy and I’ll give you a reward when we get home.”

“Jesus, kid.” Dante half-laughed and half-whined because that was as hilarious as it was stupidly hot.

Nero chuckled, stood up, and walked out of the room. Dante groaned in exasperation. Having Nero that close to his cock - even as a joke - was enough to give him _ at least _ a quarter-chub. After making sure _ that _ wasn’t visibly obvious, he grabbed their suitcases and hauled them out to the truck again. They snatched more muffins from the pitiful “continental breakfast” bar than was socially acceptable. Nobody was around to stop them. It was the perfect crime.

From the motel they only had about four hours of driving left. Really, they wouldn’t have made it that late if they’d just pressed on. Dante knew that Nero was just as needy as he was; the confirmation was pretty adorable, though.

But the air between them grew thick; an anxious tension that crackled more fervently as they neared their destination. Dante wondered apprehensively about what would happen when they arrived. He wouldn’t put it past Vergil to welcome Nero in only to make Dante rough it outside. That would be extraordinarily cruel. Then again, Dante most definitely deserved it.

Even Nero’s cassettes did little to ease Dante’s mind. Glancing over occasionally, Dante noticed the way Nero’s hands flexed tight on the wheel. Even through his hoodie it was obvious his arm muscles were shifting in extension. Nero’s jaw looked set tight. His brow furrowed. Nero was worried, too.

“You gonna be okay?” Dante finally asked when they were minutes away. 

“I’m…” Nero started, but then trailed off, swallowing. He didn’t seem like he was going to cry or anything, but he did look…

“Stressed out?” Dante filled in the gap.

“Yeah,” Nero gave a huff of a laugh.

“Me too,” Dante rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin, thinking, then he reached over and tugged at Nero’s sleeve. “Hey, give me your hand.”

“Seriously?” Nero’s words were an airy rush of tension.

“Yeah seriously. Just for a sec.” Dante encouraged.

Nero made a frustrated sort of noise. But he released his death-grip on the steering wheel so he could give Dante his right hand. Keeping them low, pressed against the seat, Dante clasped their palms together tight. How many “last chances” was he gonna eek out?

_ Last one, I promise. _

“We’ll deal with it, right?” Dante affirmed, “Whatever happens up there.”

“Right. Yeah.” Nero nodded, though he didn’t seem to relax much.

“Even if V goes ballistic. Or _ you _ go ballistic. Or Verg tars and feathers me and chucks me to the wolves.”

Nero gave a small laugh at that. He relaxed just a smidge. Seeing that made Dante relax, too. He continued speaking soothingly:

“Listen, we got this. Even if all this shit goes absolutely fucking mental, as long as we got each other, like this?” Dante shook their hands a little for emphasis, “Then far as I’m concerned we’ll be alright. We can deal with whatever bullshit comes our way.”

God, the smile that broke across Nero’s face then was so gorgeous it made Dante’s heart stop. Again he thought about just taking Nero back home. Fuck this trip. Fuck Vergil. Fuck V. None of it was as important as Nero’s smile in that moment. And Dante knew - just _ knew _ \- that whatever the hell they were about to walk into was going to make it harder for him to see Nero smile like that.

Nero took his hand back and Dante’s chest ached. He sat back and turned his attention back out the windshield. The house came into view, nestled as it always was in the trees. They were losing their leaves rapidly and those barren branches only made his boyhood home look more ominous. Nero guided the truck up the snaking driveway to the gate. It opened before he could even roll down his window to punch in the code. 

Vergil was watching, then. Waiting for them.

“Here we go,” Nero said under his breath as they pulled up closer to the house.

The front door opened. Vergil stepped out onto the front walkway. Serious and immaculately dressed, as always. He didn’t look particularly happy to see them. But Vergil hardly ever looked happy. Not when Dante was near. Not in decades.

Dante let out a slow breath to steady the whirling sensation of dread in his chest. Nero cast him a sympathetic look and holy SHIT did Dante want to grab him and kiss him right there-

“We’ll be _ okay _,” Nero said softly.

“Yeah,” Dante nodded and straightened himself up, ready to face whatever he had to, for Nero’s sake. “_We’ll _ be okay.”


	7. Vergil

Nero looked healthy; this was Vergil’s first observation. It was an honest relief to see his son hop out of that red truck and walk forward with his chest puffed out and eyes full of determination. No longer moving like a wounded animal with exhaustion in his eyes and weariness in his breath - Nero was strong again. He came expecting a fight. Perhaps there would be one.

“Nero,” Vergil greeted his son calmly,“It’s good to see you’re well.”

“Yeah you too,” Nero’s voice was slathered in sarcasm, “Nice to see V hasn’t turned you into ground beef or made a sunhat outta your skin yet.”

Ignoring that, Vergil glanced to Dante, who had followed Nero and stood behind and to the side of his nephew. Dante looked healthier as well. Better than he looked in the hospital, but also better than he looked last time he was home, too. Sober and clear-eyed. Maybe clear of mind, though it was too early to tell. Vergil had been deceived by Dante enough to know not to trust that surface of placidity.

“Dante,” Vergil offered him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Not so nice to see me, right?” Dante punctuated his question with a laugh.

His brother knew well enough that their relationship lay in splinters. What Dante didn’t have to do was make it worse. That self-deprecation only served to victimize himself. Unfair. Vergil was the one who suffered most here. Why was he always the one shouldering the burden of keeping things civil?

“Better to see you alive than dead,” Vergil stated simply.

Dante bristled at that. Confusion writ itself clearly across his face. Vergil wouldn’t bother to elaborate. It was already cumbersome to admit to harboring some fraction of care when he had every right not to. If Dante couldn’t understand and accept that tiny gesture, then that was his own problem.

“Where’s V?” Nero interjected impatiently.

“Bathing, currently,” Vergil explained, “He wanted to make himself presentable when I told him you were at the gate.”

“Fucking drama queen I swear to God-”

“While we wait,” Vergil interrupted Nero’s complaining, “You can take some of your anger out on the firewood out back. The bins are low.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Nero scoffed. “I’m here five minutes and you’re telling me to do _ chores _?”

“Only what I had to take up after you left.” Vergil tried to keep his tone light, offer more than command. “Or we can all sit around freezing while the _ drama queen _ soaks for the next half-hour or so.”

Nero continued to scowl. He glanced back at Dante, who only provided a lopsided smile and a shrug. It was Nero’s choice to make. Vergil already suspected the answer, though.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go,” Nero huffed as he brushed past Vergil and stalked into the house, taking the more direct route instead of walking around the outside.

The front door shut, leaving Vergil and Dante alone on the walkway. Silent tension, as always. Vergil regarded Dante with a harder expression than he’d given Nero. He was in no mood for dealing with Dante’s bullshit, for lack of a better word. There were already enough concerns about his sons trying to kill each other. 

“Surprised that worked,” Dante finally quipped. “I thought he’d argue more.”

“Nero is hot-headed,” Vergil explained flatly. “It’s best to redirect that energy into something productive. Manual labor suits his strengths. He enjoys working with his hands.”

Dante made an amused snort. Vergil didn’t know why, nor did he particularly care. He would prefer to get back inside and tend to more important matters. Nothing was pressing, but anything was better than standing around with his twin who clearly wanted to avoid him. Vergil wouldn’t let Dante charm himself out of tough conversations, and that set his younger brother on edge. But Vergil felt edgy too, knowing those conversations were coming and not likely to end well. This reunion would be a great, horrible cleansing.

“I imagine you brought some luggage with you?” Vergil didn’t wait for Dante’s confirmation, “Bring that in. Then you can start dressing down and dusting your room.”

“Putting me to work, too, huh?” Dante chuckled again as he turned to walk back toward the truck. “Guess I’ll count myself lucky you’re even letting me in at all.”

“Yes, you should,” Vergil replied to Dante’s back before heading back into the house.

He made a circuit of the foyer and main hall of the ground floor, checking that things were in order. The furniture in the sitting room was all uncovered. He’d spent a few days getting everything refreshed and cleaning out the fireplace for usage. It was a larger space than the drawing room, with a white and eggshell color scheme that made it feel airy and light. There were more seating options with a sofa, settee, and two armchairs; each one perfectly matched the others. This was where his parents had usually met with company, so it seemed fitting for a family gathering. Besides, he’d prefer to keep the drawing room a private oasis. Rather, that’s how it had been before V imposed himself.

Thinking of V, Vergil made his way up the staircase. He went to the guest bathroom door and listened. The occasional sound of water shifting let him know that his son was still soaking, taking his damn time. Vergil suspected V always waited until the water was cold. Given the level of filth the boy had been encrusted with when he arrived, he could understand the want to enjoy being clean. His hair was softer, too, these days. No longer a scraggly mess.

A loud thump noise behind him made Vergil turn around. It was Dante setting down a suitcase in front of Nero’s bedroom door. His brother stood in front of it smirking, his eyes wandering over the miscellaneous signage plastered over the wood.

“I was gonna ask which one was his but…” Dante joked and directed a sidelong glance to Vergil, “You really loosened up on the aesthetic, huh?”

“For him, yes,” Vergil answered, walking away from the bathroom door toward Dante but stopping a good yard or so from him. “He wasn’t happy with his accommodations, so I tried to accommodate him.” 

Vergil couldn’t go as far as saying he _ approved _ of Nero’s tastes. He found the posters about as dreadful as the boy’s music and fashion sense. But Vergil also knew he had no influence in shaping those preferences, late to Nero’s upbringing as he was. Compromise was something Vergil had to learn by trial and error with his son. Unfortunately, it seemed he didn’t learn fast enough.

“Of course, now I know it wasn’t the house that he was unhappy with,” Vergil commented.

“Hey you did alright,” Dante shrugged, still holding another suitcase in his hand that Vergil assumed was his, “It’s not like the kid hates you or anything.”

“Yet he turns to you instead,” Vergil replied stonily. “You, who he’s only known a matter of months. You, who took his mother from me without a care what would happen to her or the children she carried. He forgives _ you _.”

Dante closed his eyes and dropped his head a little. He didn’t want to have this conversation, that was obvious. Vergil wished that the need for such a conversation didn’t exist. But it did. It was Dante’s choice to keep running from it or make excuses to plaster over the damage until the cracks reformed.

“You know,” Dante raised his head again and looked to him with a pained expression that Vergil refused to be swayed by. “Nero’s been talking about how much he thinks you miss me.”

Vergil watched Dante’s chest heave with a sardonic chuckle. He didn’t find any humor in what Dante was saying.

“I keep trying to tell him that’s not the case,” Dante continued. “I say at the very most you tolerate me, because he likes me. And you wanna be liked by him, right? But he just refuses to think that you hate me. Optimistic little shit.”

Vergil weighed Dante’s words, pruning down the overly self-disparaging language to get to the core. What Dante actually wanted was for Vergil to say that he didn’t hate him. He decided to settle on a compromise. 

“Unlike Nero, I can’t find it in myself to forgive you,” Vergil said this slowly, “But I also can’t say I hate you. I can’t say I’ll _ never _ forgive you, either.”

That last line seemed to affect Dante the most. His eyes widened minutely as he stared at Vergil. It was as if just the hint that he could be redeemed had never crossed his mind. Vergil sighed, already growing tired of interacting with his little brother.

“Broken bones can heal, but sometimes we must break them again to make them set correctly,” Vergil posited as he stepped aside to clear the pathway to Dante’s room, leaning against the interior balcony railing. “It’s just a matter of being willing to handle the pain.”

“Yeah,” Dante’s eyes stayed sad but his smile was soft and warm. “For what it’s worth, I _ am _ sorry, y’know. About everything.”

“I know you are,” Vergil nodded once at his brother, but offered nothing more. 

Words are just words, in the end. It wasn’t the first time Vergil heard Dante apologize. At least his brother had the dignity to not beg and plead. It lent some sincerity that Dante actually understood more the depth of scope of his wrongdoing. Better than the panicked grasping of his younger years, when the apology was more a means to get what he wanted than any actual consideration of Vergil’s feelings. Progress, little and late, but progress all the same.

“I also wanna say thanks for letting me stay.” Dante added, “You didn’t have to. Nero was just running his mouth. But you still let him bring me along anyway. That, uh, that means a lot to me, even if you only agreed ‘cause you wanted to see him.”

“I can’t help that he’s so attached to you,” Vergil replied, still unable to reconcile how much it stung to know his son liked Dante more, “But you also agreed to come along despite the risk that I would refuse you. It’s refreshingly unselfish of you, looking out for what Nero wants over yourself.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘thanks’ to me too?” Dante grinned.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Dante.” Vergil warned, but Dante still laughed.

Dante excused himself to his bedroom, which was the next one down from Nero’s in the southeastern corner of the horseshoe-shaped balcony. Once the door shut, Vergil started to move again, intending to head back downstairs. The sound of the door opening stilled him. Glancing over his shoulder, Vergil noticed it wasn’t Dante’s bedroom but the bathroom that was now open.

V stood in the doorway, fully dressed - thank god - in the nice set of clothes Vergil had given him. It was reassuring to see the outfit hung on him well; Vergil had suspected his old teenage garb would fit V’s slight frame. He considered digging more of those outfits out of storage, but that was a dangerous implication of permanence that Vergil wasn’t ready to face at the moment.

“That was so very touching,” V commented as he walked out, one hand bracing with his cane and the other holding the pile of his dirty clothes.

Vergil thought he should put a hamper in that bathroom, to save V the effort. More speculative domesticity.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Vergil stated without any real negativity.

“You would’ve done the same, don’t lie,” V smirked as he turned to walk around the balcony over toward his room.

Admittedly, he was right. If their positions were swapped, Vergil would have wanted to listen, too. He watched V for a moment, until he saw something drop from the pile he carried. V huffed in annoyance, then struggled to bend and pick it up. Vergil strode over quickly to pick it up for him. A sock. V straightened himself back up and offered Vergil a smile.

“Thank you,” V said and it sounded earnest.

Vergil inclined a little as a welcome, then indicated to the rest of the pile in V’s arms. “I’ll take that for you.”

V wasted no time in accepting the offer, shoving his dirty laundry into Vergil’s arms. They both continued walking around the U of the balcony to his room.

“Are they angry?” V asked with thick amusement.

“Nero is,” Vergil replied, “Dante less so. But Dante hides his feelings more readily.”

“Something you both have in common,” V mused as he opened his bedroom door.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

Vergil felt compelled to glance back across the way. There, at Dante’s room, he could see his brother watching from the now half-open doorway. It seemed the family pastime of spying on each other was still strong. 

Vergil followed V inside and pushed the door shut with his shoulder. Crossing the room to the hamper next to the dresser, Vergil deposited the dirty clothes inside it. V hadn’t complained much about having to wash or re-wear some items. Still, it was a little wasteful to wash laundry too frequently. He decided he would bring V more of his old outfits after all. 

A bright flash of light broke Vergil’s thoughts. He looked over to see V holding that damn camera. It spat out a photo and V took it gently.

“Your expression, I couldn’t resist,” V laughed as he swished the picture in the air.

It was a struggle to think he’d made any sort of interesting face while he pondered V’s soiled clothing. Vergil absently rubbed a palm over his own mouth, as if he expected to find his expression had twisted itself while he was unaware. 

“Did I offend you? Taking a picture without your permission?” V asked somewhat seriously as he set the polaroid down on his bedside table.

“It was surprising, but I don’t really care, I guess. You can take pictures if you want. Maybe give me a warning first, next time.” Vergil explained as he glanced around the bedroom, noting how very little had changed since V’s occupancy.

Nero had almost immediately started making adjustments, moving the furniture and taping up his posters. That could have been because he was a teen then. But V hadn’t really lived in a place where he had reign to express himself like that, either.

“I might,” V said, leaning back against the edge of his neatly made bed. “Warn you, I mean. I’ll still take them regardless. The candid ones are better.”

“Where did you get that camera?” Vergil asked with genuine curiosity. 

“I stole it,” V smirked.

Of course he did, Vergil thought. Why would he think there would be any other explanation?

“And the film?” Vergil prodded more. 

It wasn’t surprising when V replied: “Stole it.”

“You’ll run out eventually,” Vergil pointed out. “I don’t want you to steal anymore.”

V’s smirk fell into a perturbed sort of frown. But his son nodded all the same, setting the camera down next to the picture.

“As you wish, Father,” V said and Vergil didn’t miss the hint of venom on the last word.

“Good,” Vergil ignored V’s petulance for the moment, “We should go greet your brother, together.”

“You’re afraid he might attack me if we’re alone?” The amusement leaked back into V’s tone as he left the bed.

“Or the opposite,” Vergil countered, turning to lead the way back out the door. “I’d like to get through this first day without bloodshed, at least. And for that I need you to-”

“Behave myself, yes, yes,” V waved his free hand in the air, the other keeping his cane in stride as they took the stairs down. “Did you also give Nero such a command? Or am I the only one to ever be reprimanded?”

“I’m not the one that goes around stabbing people, asshole.” Came Nero’s reply from the foyer.

Nero was flushed and sweating, the front of his zipped-up hoodie covered in bits of tree bark. He’d likely just come in from chopping firewood, though no logs could be seen. Vergil continued to the bottom landing. V stayed put about a quarter way up the stairs. That may have had something to do with the fact that Nero had the axe resting on one shoulder, hand gripping the handle tightly as he glared up at V.

“I’ll take that,” Vergil interjected, grabbing the axe and pulling it away. 

Nero grunted in annoyance but released it to Vergil’s grasp. Vergil tucked the handle up under his arm, keeping his hands free. V and Nero stared each other down like cats in an alleyway. Vergil could almost hear them hissing. V made the first move, stepping further down the stairs. Nero went visibly tense, his teeth gritting.

Vergil shot a warning look at V, who tilted his head and smiled like a wicked little wretch. V directed that same look to Nero and Vergil braced for both of his sons to immediately explode into histrionics. Instead, and to much shock, V simply bowed his head to his brother and spoke calmly:

“I wronged you, Nero. And hurt you gravely. I won’t lie and say it was an accident, but I do regret it. And I’m glad to see you’re okay now. I’m sorry.”

Vergil felt just as taken aback as Nero looked. Nero shook his head shortly, eyes narrowing to squint at V as his brother straightened back up. His lips moved to form the word “bullshit”, though he didn’t say it out loud. 

“Let’s do our best to get along, brother.” V said, still smiling, “At least for Father’s sake, hm?”

Nero growled again, staring daggers into V for another moment before replying: “Sure, fuckin’ whatever. I’m gonna go change.”

Nero pushed past V, both young men holding each other’s gaze until it had to break when Nero started ascending the stairs. Vergil watched this entire interaction with a sense of bafflement. V’s sudden courtesy and Nero’s surprise control of himself were completely unexpected. Vergil couldn’t help but think he was suddenly missing a large piece of the puzzle here.


	8. V

V ate up Vergil’s open surprise. He could tell his father had expected a fight. But all V needed to do was remind Nero that it was _ he _ who held his leash. He was in no mood to share their father, but if he must then he would be the one in control of the doling. For as long as he wanted to.

“Why are you so shocked?” V asked Vergil, still smiling, “Didn’t you want me to behave?”

“I’m not sure that was _ entirely _ cordial of you,” Vergil’s expression was suspicious, but Vergil was always suspicious of him to some degree. Smart man.

“Of course not, but look,” V spread an arm out, presenting, “No bloodshed. I believe I’ve upheld your main request.”

“Day’s not over yet, _ kiddo _,” Came Dante’s voice from above. 

Both V and Vergil looked up to see Dante watching them from the interior balcony. He stood with his hands pressed against the railing, leaning over. There was a smile stretched across his face that V didn’t believe was genuine at all. 

“Hey, Verg, remember when I used to jump off this thing to get down there?” Dante slapped his hands against the top of the balustrade. “Dad got so pissed. Miss _ one _ landing and suddenly it’s _ Dante I forbid this _ , _ Dante I forbid that _.”

“You broke a table,” Vergil grumbled in irritation up at his brother.

“And my arm!” Dante recalled.

“It was an expensive table.” Vergil shook his head dismissively.

It was an oddly open pettiness. Vergil was being intentionally sarcastic toward Dante. V found that darkly admirable, not just because of his own predilection for seeing Dante suffer. Unfortunately, Dante had a baleful habit of taking such things in stride. His uncle laughed.

“Think I could stick the landing this time?” Dante asked playfully.

“No,” Said Vergil.

“Sure,” Said V.

Vergil gave V a withering sort of look that tickled his insides. Then he looked back up at Dante with the same expression. A door opened upstairs. Though V couldn’t see him, he could hear Nero calling over to Dante, angry:

“Break your hip and I swear to God I will leave you to die where you land!” 

“Okay, fine,” Dante laughed then and lifted his hands off the railing in surrender. “I get the hint. No acrobatics.”

The way Vergil’s shoulders relaxed was plainly obvious. V felt a little disappointed, but also pleased that Dante chose wisely for once. If the moron had hurt himself it would have put Vergil in a cross mood, rendering V’s efforts at civility void. Not that he planned to keep up these airs for much longer.

His ultimate goal may have changed, but the catalyst remained the same. V no longer wished to simply destroy. He loved Father. V was a greedy leech that didn’t want to share.

Dante walked down the stairs like a normal person. After a moment V heard Nero’s bedroom door close again, too. When he reached the bottom, Dante stood next to V, still grinning a liar’s grin. V understood that expression well. Then Dante threw an arm over V’s shoulders and V tensed with revulsion.

“Hey so, gonna have a little chat with my other nephew here,” Dante addressed Vergil as he jostled V lightly. “Y’know, in private.”

“_Dante _,” Vergil’s tone was a stark warning.

“What?” Dante chuckled, “Even you gotta admit I’m owed some answers, right? After all, he went through _ so much _ effort to get my attention. Isn’t that right V? Let’s go have a nice, friendly treat-o-teat.”

“It’s tête-à-tête,” V corrected Dante flatly.

“Too many umlauts and shit, mine’s more fun to say,” Dante shrugged then began pulling V away. “You like the library, right buddy?”

V released a deeply annoyed and inconvenienced sigh. But he nodded to his father to indicate his willingness to go along with Dante’s whim. An excitable dog pulling on his master’s lead. His uncle steered them toward the library. Dante’s speed was hard to match and V had spent most of the walk limping, reluctantly using Dante for support instead of his cane. Once inside, Dante released his tight hold on V’s shoulders. V took a moment to straighten himself out while Dante very indiscreetly bolted the door shut. Then he walked across the expanse of the library toward the windows on the far wall. 

“He has a key,” V pointed out, reluctantly following after.

“Yeah, but I’ll hear if he unlocks it,” Dante waved a hand in the air.

This far away from the door, it would be difficult to eavesdrop. If they kept their voices lowered that is, as Dante seemed intent to do. He’d thought this through more than it initially appeared. 

“So what’s your game?” Dante asked lowly before he sat down at the reading desk.

V felt a twinge of anger. That desk was _ his _. He shook off that feeling, schooling himself back into his usual persona. Smirking, V approached the desk slowly, letting his fingers slide along the edge when he could reach it.

“Nothing you could hope to win,” He replied smoothly, “I’m only savoring my victory lap.”

“Nah, nope, I don’t buy that,” Dante crossed his arms and leaned back, looking V over judgmentally. “If you were waiting for us to get here to start shit you would’ve, well… But you’re playing it nice for Verg. Blackmail? Bribery? What do you want?”

“So astute,” V let his voice quietly roll as he rounded the desk to the side Dante sat at. “Where was all that deductive sense when my mother was suffocating to death? Ah, that’s right. You didn’t have a care in the world what happened her.”

“_That _ was not my fault,” Dante growled, but his eyes betrayed his hesitancy to believe his own words.

V made an amused hum. He sat up on the edge of the desk. Then he lifted his feet to set them on the armrests of the desk chair, boxing Dante in with his legs. 

“Is that what Nero tells you to help you sleep better at night?” V tilted his head to the side. “But you know it’s not true, don’t you? Mother would have had such a lovely, long life here.”

V gestured around the room before looking back to Dante. His uncle was snarling. Teeth all on display as his breath seethed through them. Where was that joyous mask he so often hid behind? Was it really so fragile against V’s antagonizing? Pathetic.

“Nero may be blinded by your revoltingly cute personality, but I know for a _ fact _ that this is all your fault, dear uncle.” V leaned forward now, hunching over with his forearms on his knees, putting his face just inches from Dante’s. “You are undeserving. Of Nero. And Father. But you know that, don’t you? Yet you greedily take their charity while expecting them to afford me none.”

Dante growled. He flinched a little, as if he were tempted to attack V physically but reined himself back in at the last second. Good dog. V smirked. Then he tested the fire more. He stuck out his tongue and swiped the very tip of it just over the barest hint of Dante’s lips. How far would Dante let him go in order to protect Nero?

“You’re gonna make me puke,” Dante snarled. “_What _ do you want?”

V sat back, still keeping his feet planted on the arms of the chair. He paused a moment to imagine a more delightful situation. If Vergil sat where Dante did. If Vergil would take him on top of the desk. That was what he _ wanted_.

Looking down at Dante, V leaned back a little more to prop himself up with his hands on the desk. He lifted his right foot and pressed it flat against Dante’s strong stomach. He remembered how it looked in his photos - those hairy muscles and how they flexed as he drove himself into Nero. Would Vergil look like that, too? Or would he manage to maintain his grace even in his most carnal moments?

“I want you to leave,” V spoke lowly as he slid his foot down Dante’s abdomen, thrilling to see his uncle’s disgusted tension mount as the limb neared his crotch. “I mean both of you, of course. Simply_ leave_.”

“I get it. You wanna hoard Verg. Keep him all to yourself, that it?” Dante grabbed V’s ankle and pulled it away from his body, glaring. “Hate to break it to ya, but that’s not gonna happen.”

“Are you afraid I’ll succeed where you failed?” V chuckled. “Does Nero know you’re still so inclined toward our father? I wonder, if Vergil suddenly returned your feelings, how quickly would you leave little Nero out in the cold?”

Later, V would recall that as the moment he poked the fire a little too much. Dante surged upward, still gripping V’s ankle, shoving V roughly onto his back on the desk. All the air in V’s lungs exploded outward, making him wheeze. He writhed, kicking, but Dante’s hand kept its vise-like grip about his ankle. The other hand clamped over V’s mouth, hushing the shout he was about to give to alert Vergil. V glared up at Dante and his heart raced with fear.

“You don’t think I’d beat you, you little piece of shit?” Dante growled down at him, squeezing around his mouth until his teeth cut in. “You don’t think I know _ exactly _ what you’re up to? How do you think it’s gonna end, huh? You just think you’re gonna win Verg over with your body and words? You broken little fuck, you’re just gonna hurt him worse.”

V struggled against Dante’s hold. He refused the words his uncle hissed down at him. Dante was a manipulator too. Just enraged because V was threatening his undeserved happiness. He’d make Dante regret every single bruise bleeding under his skin.

“You wanna show him those pictures? Then do it. He’ll disown us all. Me ‘n’ Nero will be just _fine_. We got something _stronger than_ _you_.” Dante’s hold around V’s ankle twisted and V’s heart leapt with anxiety.

Visions of the day his other leg was brutally snapped replayed vividly in his mind. A ghost of pain tingled in his left ankle though it was his right being threatened. A flash of Urizen - that deplorable memory - seizing him this way, stretching his leg over a cinder block, the hammer swinging down…

V’s eyes burned and poured and still glared hatefully up at his insolent uncle. He shook and choked, finding it hard to breathe with just his nose through the panic and mucus churning up from his crying.

“But if you give one single _ speck _ of love for your father then you’ll leave, too. Got it?” Dante’s voice cracked then and his expression shifted instantly from so enraged to sorrowful. “God, you’re so fucked up, kid. And I know that’s _ my _ fault, okay? Don’t use Vergil like this, I’m begging you here. Don’t fuck him up more than I did. Please, V.”

A tear fell from the corner of Dante’s eye. It splashed against V’s cheek. He felt it slide over his skin, mixing with his own.

Dante loosened his grip from V’s mouth and ankle. The moment he did, V shoved him away. It was too easy to do, so Dante must have just allowed it to happen. V crawled off the desk and wiped the tears from his face. He wiped the blood from his lip where his teeth had cut. Staring down at the red on his palm, V felt his hatred churning hotly within his gut. He shot a final glare at Dante, then he turned and headed for the door, swift as his aching legs would allow. Dante didn’t follow.

The foyer was empty, at least from what V could see. His eyes still burned, hot and wet and angry. He marched up the stairs and threw his door open, letting it smack loudly into the wall. He wanted the world to hear his blazing fury. 

He went to his dresser. _ His _ . This was _ his _ room. Father _ gave _ it to him. Yanking open the third drawer, V dug under his old leather clothing. He’d washed but hadn’t worn it again since he arrived. Under that was an envelope; tan and padded, no writing yet, nondescript. All he had to do was get out the photos inside. He’d ruin Dante and Nero. He’d ruin them. He would…

“What the hell is going on?” Vergil’s voice made V jump.

Whipping his head in that direction, V felt his heart thrumming. Could Vergil see it pulsing through his chest? It beat so hard and fast that V worried he might. 

“You’re crying.” Vergil frowned and stepped further into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you and Dante alone.”

He sounded so tired. Strained. Moreso now than any other time since V arrived. The stress of managing these twisted branches of his family was clearly wearing him out more than he would ever admit. But it was clear in the creases of his eyes and the tension in his voice. 

_ He’ll disown us all _.

No, V wouldn’t allow that. He could love his father. He could make Vergil understand. Vergil would need him. Want him.

_ Don’t fuck him up more _.

Dante, that destroyer. Why should he have Nero’s forgiveness but forbid V from having Vergil’s? V _ would _ have it. He was already close, wasn’t he?

Vergil stepped closer and V’s mind panicked. Quickly, he shoved the envelope back in his drawer and slammed it closed. Damn it, he couldn’t decide what to do. Too caught between what he told himself was right and the whirlpool of treacherous emotions he now felt. 

“What did he do?” Vergil asked, his voice wary but concerned. “What did Dante say?”

The truth, V thought. Dante had told him the truth and V hated it.

“Nothing I didn’t need to hear, in the end…” V looked to his father, knowing he looked weak and pathetic. “I’m broken...”

Vergil let out a long, slow breath. V prepared himself to face Vergil’s acknowledgement, the confirmation that V was an irreparable mess. The sting came preemptively, before Vergil said a single word. A sick, twisting little thing, cracking at the inside of his chest. V covered his mouth with his hand and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, but it wasn’t enough. The cry came in a tidal wave, muffled only in sound but the tears erupted like blood from a cut.

Strong arms wrapped around him then. He felt himself being pulled forward, until his body was pressed tight into Vergil’s warmth. That only made him sob more, wanting to curl into himself. Vergil held him up, though V felt so pathetic he deserved to be on the floor. Even now Vergil showed him a kindness, staying quiet and letting him cry. Why? If leaving him alone was the best thing V could do for his father, why did Vergil make him so desperate to stay?

_One single speck of love. _


	9. Nero

Dinner that night ranked pretty high up on Nero’s list of Most Awkward Dinners Ever. He wouldn’t get the whole story about what happened with Dante and V until later, but even then he knew something had gone wrong. V wasn’t eating with them, which wouldn’t have even bothered him if the silence between Vergil and Dante wasn’t so palpable. Dante wasn’t even trying to make light of things, just sitting next to Nero and poking around at the baked chicken on his plate. 

“Well this is fucking awkward,” Nero finally said out loud and Dante gave a snort. “Food’s good though, Dad. But c’mon let’s at least talk about something. I feel like I’m eating on death row here.”

“You weren’t interested in dinnertime conversation before,” Vergil replied though he didn’t sound particularly angry about it.

“Yeah, so? Anything’s better than this, even your dumb stories.” Nero smiled at his father, hoping to get him to loosen up.

“He tells stories over dinner?” Dante asked curiously.

“Oh yeah, like every night? Well he did ‘til I asked him to, uh, stuff it…” Nero gave a light laugh, feeling a bit apologetic about his past rudeness.

“Asshole,” Dante chided him jokingly, then turned his attention to Vergil across the table. “What’d you talk about?”

Vergil sipped his white wine first, staring at Dante. Nero got the sense that Vergil was considering if he would even answer. He’d been in a sour mood since before he started cooking that evening. It was a relief that he finally chose to indulge Dante’s question instead of letting things settle back into brooding.

“Family matters. Usually about Nero or happenings through the day. Nothing too different from how it was when we were children.” Vergil said as he sat his glass down.

“You didn’t try to read him poetry, right?” Dante asked and Nero noticed how his mood had perked up. “He used to read these long-winded poems while we were eating. Almost got me and Dad to fall asleep in the bisque a couple times.”

“Mother enjoyed it,” Vergil countered then took a bite of his salad.

“Yeah, ‘cause you were the cultured one. I was the dumbass that built forts outta mashed potatoes and saltines.” Dante laughed.

“Until Father destroyed it with a bratwurst dragon.” Vergil recalled.

“Nyoooom, BLAM!” Dante motioned his hands over his plate like he was acting out the memory. “It’s all fun and games until the gravy moat explodes all over Mom’s nice table cloth.”

“She had you both scrubbing the stains out all night.”

“Yeah, but she laughed about it, too, remember?”

Nero decided to keep quiet and listen to his father and uncle reminisce. It was surprising and a welcome turn of events. He thought this probably wouldn’t last too long before the next bout of family drama. So he savored it, finding himself smiling and laughing along. 

Dante did most of the talking, but Vergil would reply to add details or correct some facts. Nero learned that his father’s dedication to being the sensible son didn’t keep him from rough-housing with his brother, and even pranking Dante back on occasion. Until then it had been difficult to imagine Vergil having a childhood. But he did, and a seemingly happy one at that - at least for a time.

He wondered about his grandparents, too. They seemed like they were warm people, the kind that doted on their kids but still showed firm resolve when they needed redirection. Nero had seen enough neglectful adults to know it took extraordinary patience to nurture a child. He wished he could have met them. If they’d lived, their family probably wouldn’t have been so fucked up. 

Vergil had only told him they were murdered, but never any details. It was a painful memory. Maybe someday he’d brave a question about it. Not yet, though. He wanted to enjoy the brief moment of domestic peace as long as he could. He felt that Dante and Vergil were enjoying it too. And he also thought it was good evidence that his father _ did _ miss having Dante around. If Dante could manage to prove his remorse was legitimate and his wish to do better sincere, then maybe they _ did _ have a chance at holding things together. 

But that would also depend on the nature of V’s machinations which were unclear at best. A wrench in the cogs.

As the meal wound down, Nero offered to clear the table. He was more than happy to let Dante and Vergil keep conversing. Talking was good, even if it was just stories about Dante making a nuisance of himself. Nero gathered up the dishes and took them into the kitchen. There were two entrances, both archways, one that came from the dining room and one that lead out into the foyer. 

Stepping in from the dining room archway, Nero immediately caught sight of a shadow ducking behind the other. He knew it was probably V. Setting down some plates in the sink, Nero walked hastily to the other archway. There he saw V quickly limping his way back toward the foyer with his cane. 

“Hey, V!” Nero called to him but not too loudly, not wanting to disrupt Dante and Vergil.

V stilled but didn’t turn. He let out a sigh and dropped his head. Clearly he was annoyed that Nero came after him. And Nero was still upset at him. Angry. But if he wanted to keep things cordial with Vergil, then he’d have to accept that Vergil wanted him to be cordial with V, right?

“You hungry?” Nero asked, stepping a little bit closer so he could keep quiet, “I could grab you a plate or something.”

Then V moved just enough to squint at him. Yeah, that was probably suspicious. Nero would have been suspicious, too, if their positions were reversed.

“Look, just because I hate you doesn’t mean I want you to starve or anything.” Nero explained, shrugging.

“I’m not hungry,” V replied flatly and Nero thought that had to be bullshit but he didn’t say it out loud. “I was listening.”

Nero smiled a little at that admission. “Yeah, it’s pretty great, right? Those two getting along... Or, well, at least talking.”

“It’s… unexpected.” V obviously wasn’t as pleased as Nero. 

But he’d also hadn’t done anything to interrupt it. V had decided not to get involved and ruin that precious bit of normal conversation. Small miracles. Maybe it had something to do with whatever he and Dante talked about in the library. 

V started walking away again. Deciding not to press his luck, Nero went back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. A minute or so later, Vergil joined and gave Nero the remaining dishes to wash while he went about putting away the leftovers and scrubbing off the stove and counters. Dante poked his head in to announce that he was going to take a shower.

“Bastard,” Nero chuckled after Dante left.

“Anything to get out of doing chores,” Vergil commented.

Nero glanced over and saw a hint of a smile at the corner of his father’s mouth. He felt his own chest swell warmly. God, he wished things could always be like this with his family. He wished it could be even better, too.

Once the washing was done, Nero bid his father good night and headed upstairs. Dante was probably winding down his shower. Nero went to his room to grab some clothes so he could also bathe before bed. He opted for some pajamas he’d left in his dresser. It’d be nice to take some more clothes home when they left, he thought.

By the time he’d walked out onto the balcony hall, Dante was exiting the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Dante was also wearing nothing but a towel, despite the chilliness of the hall. _ Bastard _. Nero tried to ignore the excited flutter of his chest as he walked forward, intent to claim the bathroom himself. His flustered expression must have been obvious, though. Dante smirked at him in that devilish way he usually did before he was about to pounce Nero’s bones and ravish him.

_ Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. _

“You done usin’ up all the hot water, old man?” Nero asked in annoyance.

“Oh yeah, it’s all yours kid,” Dante replied. “Don’t worry I kept it nice ‘n’ hot for you.”

Dante adjusted his towel and Nero was convinced he did that just to make Nero look at his waist and see the defined cut of his hips. Because he _ knew _ that would make Nero imagine everything that stupid towel was covering. This was dangerous. Nero hurried past Dante.

_ Fucking tease _.

Nero’s shower was hot. And yes, he _ did _ have to jack off between washing his hair and body because he couldn’t stop thinking about stupid Dante and his stupid big dick. What a roller coaster of a day. 

Flopping into his bed, Nero curled up with one of his pillows pressed to his chest. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he slept like that when Dante wasn’t next to him. The pillow wasn’t a good substitute, though. Too thin and flimsy, Nero ended up crushing it against his body. And unlike the pillows at home, that one didn’t even smell like Dante. It made it harder to sleep. He wondered if Dante had trouble getting to sleep as well. They were only separated by a wall, but his addiction to Dante’s presence made it feel like eons. Love was a bitch like that.

In the morning, Nero headed back downstairs to find his father and V in the kitchen. Vergil was cooking and V was reading some book as he leaned against the counter. They were discussing something - probably related to the book - before Nero entered. V tensed but Nero held his hands up signaling he wasn’t going to start shit if V wouldn’t. There was fresh coffee in the percolator, that was enough incentive to keep a truce. 

Breakfast was about as awkward as dinner had been. At least this time V joined them, though Nero couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. Dante didn’t talk as much but he didn’t seem as moody either. Vergil just ate and drank his coffee and read through the newspaper like he always did. 

(It probably cost a lot to get the paper delivered all the way out there. He used to tell his dad it wouldn’t be as much of a hassle if he just got a computer and used the internet, but Vergil was stubbornly old-fashioned like that. If Nero had asked for a computer for himself, Vergil would have likely acquiesced though. Damn hindsight.)

Eventually, Vergil did dole out chores. It was kind of funny, because that wasn’t at all different from when it was just him and Nero. Morning chores after breakfast, then afternoon work after lunch. He used to ask Nero if he wanted to go put in some hours at the antique shop, but Nero never wanted to spend more time than he needed to with his father. He’d got the job at the pizza joint in town instead. He kind of regretted that now. Vergil was just attempting to get Nero interested in _ his _ interests, back then. 

“You going into town later?” Nero asked while they cleared the table and Vergil nodded in affirmation. “Mind if I tag along?”

That seemed to surprise his father for a moment, but then he replied: “You’re welcome to join me. Though you _ do _ have your own vehicle. You can come and go as you wish.”

“Yeah but I drove the whole way here,” Nero joked even though he actually wouldn’t mind driving his truck some more, this wasn’t about that. “I won’t pass up a chauffeur. Plus, I haven’t seen the shop in a while.”

Leaving it at that, Nero set off to do the tasks Vergil had asked him to do. Mainly, he needed to fell some trees to replenish the stock of wood before snow would make it difficult. (Another thing he’d told his dad to invest in was installing a central heating system, which Vergil also refused. Space heaters and fireplaces forever.)

Felling took up a couple of hours. Nero didn’t mind. He used to hate it when he was a teen, but these days he could appreciate the reward of working outside in the crisp air. Fall was quickly turning over to winter now. It reminded Nero how short of a time had passed since he’d left this place. All that shit that happened with Urizen and the fallout after occured in a matter of months. He’d met Dante near the tail-end of August, now it was early December. Time was fucking crazy.

Vergil hadn’t asked Nero to do more than fell the trees and split them into small enough logs to haul back to the chopping pile. Nero decided he would break some of the drier logs into firewood anyway. They were going through it faster now. Besides, it wasn’t like V was in any condition to help with that after they left.

Oh, that was a weird thought. Nero had actually considered leaving V alone with Vergil? What? Hadn’t his whole plan revolved around convincing Vergil that V was bad news? V should have been in _ jail _ or at the very least an institution. But even though V was basically lording blackmail over him and Dante, as far as Nero could tell he wasn’t exactly mistreating Vergil. In fact, Vergil seemed more in control of the situation. V obviously had some amount of respect for their father.

“Wood’s not gonna split with the power of thought, y’know,” Dante’s voice tore Nero from his musing.

He _ had _ been staring at that one log on the block an awfully long time. Nero looked to Dante and rolled his eyes, then swung back the axe and carved it hard and clean. Dante let out a low whistle of approval. 

“Here, thought you’d need a drink,” Dante said and he held out the glass of water he was carrying.

Nero took it and chugged about half of it down. He was pretty thirsty from all that work. Even though it was cold enough for several layers, he felt all hot and sweaty underneath. After he drank enough, he handed the glass back to Dante. Then he decided to take off his jacket to let himself air out a bit. He didn’t miss the look Dante gave him, his uncle’s eyes flicking over his body. Nero smirked and shook his head.

“Don’t you got work to do?” Nero asked, setting another log on the stump and then chopping it in half. 

“Yeah…” Dante replied, still watching Nero work with an open and dangerous interest.

Nero chopped another log before he addressed Dante again: “You gonna, like, actually _ do it _ for once?”

“Eventually, sure,” Dante grinned, then took a sip from the remaining water as he kept watching. “Don’t let me slow you down, though.” 

“Gonna get us in _ trouble _,” Nero replied vaguely, though he also laughed.

“Dante!” Vergil called from the back door of the house, grabbing both of their attention.

He sounded perturbed, and rightfully so since Dante was obviously slacking on what he was asked to do. Vergil stepped outside, followed by V. Nero noticed that V was kind of, well, _ clingy _. Since the previous day he’d been sticking pretty close to Vergil, not straying too far out of the same general area. Nero wondered if that was also the result of his interaction with Dante, or if V was just always like that even before they arrived.

It was weird. Everything was so weird when it came to V. Nero found himself kinda feeling sorry for him. Urizen fucked him up pretty bad, didn’t he? Until very recently, V had been under Urizen’s control. Nero couldn’t even fathom what that could have been like. 

“Whoops, I’m busted,” Dante chuckled, “Guess I’ll hop to it.”

Nero watched Dante jog over to Vergil. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could tell his father was reprimanding Dante for slacking off. He could also see V smile as Vergil complained, then he covered his mouth with the cover of the book he carried to hide it. It wasn’t a cruel smile, either. An honest amusement at the interaction. V’s eyes were all on Vergil.

Vergil and Dante started walking away. They were probably headed for the kitchen garden; Vergil had mentioned needing to harvest some of the vegetables and get things frost-proofed. V followed after, sticking close to Vergil’s side. Nero watched them pause and exchange some words, then V handed his book over to Vergil, who tucked it into the inside of his coat. Nero couldn’t help but feel a little warm witnessing such a simple act of courtesy.

And though he kind of hated it, he had to admit that maybe V’s presence wasn’t so bad, for their father at least.


	10. Vergil

The garden was more sparse than it used to be, at least where edibles were concerned. Vergil hadn’t exactly planned for company when he sowed the seeds in the late summer. He’d planted for Nero and himself. Mostly himself, since Nero rarely had any input even when asked. (And then Nero left and Vergil thought he’d have an overabundance of produce.) 

Between the herbs and vegetables he filled in the empty spaces with hardy flowers. Chrysanthemums and pansies up front, sunflowers in the back. Mother used to keep flowers when she could, but she grew more edible food than ornaments when he was a child. He liked to think she’d be pleased with his choices. 

“Ugh, beets.” Dante complained from the far end of the garden. “Why would you plant _ beets _?”

Vergil intended to ignore his brother’s whining. That Dante was even helping at all felt like a small miracle. He recognized that Dante was trying to make an effort to prove he had matured. But Vergil still couldn’t shake the events of the previous night. Dante had shaken V - made him cry - but Vergil felt that V had in some way disturbed Dante too. He didn’t like feeling like he was missing something important, but this was a delicate situation.

“I like beets,” V commented from the spot where he knelt next to Vergil. 

V was carefully dusting clods of dirt from the vegetables Vergil pulled. He’d purposefully placed himself to Vergil’s right when Dante went left. Vergil was aware he was being used as some sort of shield. He didn’t mind.

“Nobody likes beets,” Dante huffed, chucking his haphazardly-pulled bulbs into the basket next to his knee, “Might as well eat dirt.”

“I wouldn’t have planted them if I didn’t intend to eat them,” Vergil mentioned. “Mother planted them, too.”

“I’m pretty sure she made us eat them because actual torture was illegal,” Dante replied. “Ever notice how _ beet night _ was always the same as _ the-boys-got-in-a-fight-again _night?”

“No, actually,” Vergil admitted honestly. “I hadn’t.”

“Just like you to take a liking to something you’re supposed to hate,” Dante mumbled.

To his side, Vergil noticed V go tense. Glancing over, he could see V’s eyes were narrowed at Dante, his expression torn between angered offense and a glimmer of actual hurt. V’s hands curled tight around one poor head of cabbage and Vergil had visions of his son chucking it with all his might at his uncle. He pat a hand on top of one V’s to still him, then shook his head discouragingly. V’s attention turned to him instead. Thankfully, he seemed to relax then.

“Oh uh, no offense…” Dante spoke up again, realizing the mistake in his words. “I didn’t mean... It’s just Vergil’s always liked the stuff I didn’t. That doesn’t sound any better, though, huh?”

“You should probably shut up now, Dante.” Vergil chastised him tiredly.

“Yeah, yeah probably.” Dante gave a soft laugh and moved down the line to start on the broccoli and cauliflower. 

This tension wasn’t going to get any better, Vergil thought. It was a strangely calm sort of hostility. He almost wished for an outright fight, because at least then he could glean more information. But neither V nor Dante seemed to want to come out and say anything. So, it would fall on Vergil then. As always.

“What did you two discuss last night?” He finally asked as he handed the last head of cabbage over to V for examination.

Nobody spoke up to answer. Vergil sighed. Disappointing, but not a surprise. He looked to Dante, who was suddenly deeply focused on the tightly firm buds of one stalk of broccoli. So he turned to look at V, who at least met his eyes even though his mouth hung agape. V would normally pounce on the opportunity to point fingers and blame Dante for anything, wouldn’t he? Why did he look almost afraid to say anything just then? Something pooled in Vergil’s stomach, uncomfortable and tense.

“Tell me,” Vergil spoke only to V at that moment, but it was Dante who would reply.

“C’mon lay off the kid. He obviously doesn’t wanna talk about it.”

“And why’s that?” Vergil snapped to glare at his brother. “What did you do?”

Dante paused in his fiddling with the vegetables. Then he sighed and placed the broccoli into his basket. He looked to Vergil with a pained sort of expression. Instead of speaking, he glanced to V for a second. Vergil was close enough he thought he could feel V tense up again without looking at him. Dante finally addressed Vergil again:

“I told him he should leave.”

Vergil felt his temper rise; lava burbling under his skin. “_ What _?”

“I said he’s no good for you. Him being here’s just gonna fuck you up bad as I did.” Dante gave a shrug that only made Vergil’s anger grow. “‘Course he disagrees, so…”

“I didn’t disagree,” V said with abnormal reserve. 

That stung. Sharp and needle-point. Vergil couldn’t help the incredulous stare he gave his son. Of all the times V could have been defiant, this was the moment Vergil wished he would be. He couldn’t possibly agree with Dante. Not after Vergil had done everything he could to try and make V realize he had a home there. That Vergil _ wanted _him there.

Another memory cascaded over him. That first night alone. That first morning, too. And every night and morning after. All because Dante had been so jealous and cruel. Because Dante would always take and take and take. He would say it was in _ Vergil’s _ best interest and people were just so ready to believe him, weren’t they? Because Dante believed himself when he said it. Never once would he just _ fucking ask _ what Vergil wanted.

“I don’t believe I gave either of you permission to decide such a thing for me.” Vergil growled.

He stood up and looked down at V. His son gazed back up at him. Vergil expected to see the usual petulance, but all he found was a similar sorrow he’d witnessed when V cried in his arms the previous night. Vergil didn’t understand what to do with the whirl of sympathy he felt then. 

He _ did _ know what to do with the anger, though. Turning his attention to Dante, Vergil stalked over and grabbed his brother by the arm. Hauling Dante up - not an easy task because Dante was by far more bulky - Vergil began directing him down the path away from V.

“We’re going to talk. Alone.” Vergil seethed at his brother.

“Famous last words, huh?” Dante joked half-heartedly, sounding more tense than anything. 

Vergil dragged Dante past the garden and toward one of the outbuildings. Taking a glance back, he noticed V had stood up. His son wasn’t following them. Instead, V was one-handedly carrying one of the baskets back toward the house.

Even when Dante adjusted his pace to keep up, Vergil kept a hand firmly around his bicep as insurance. They ended up outside the old abandoned chapel. In retrospect, that was the last place he ever wanted to be. Especially not when he was about to get into a fight with his twin.

Dante looked it over quietly when they stopped and Vergil let go of his arm. Vergil didn’t miss the sad look that washed over Dante’s face. The building was covered with vines and water stains. Even the ornate metal door was rusted and covered with plant growth. Part of the roof had collapsed inward a year or so after Nero moved in. Vergil never intended to fix it. 

“Why are you doing this again?” Vergil snapped at Dante, regaining his brother’s attention.

“Excuse me?” Dante seemed generally confused.

“Telling V to leave. Saying he’s no good for me? Come on, Dante!” Vergil shouted in frustration. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Oh. Oh you got this so wrong.” Dante’s voice took on a pleading tone.

“Do I?” Vergil’s rage grew hotter, his fists clenching tight at his sides, arm muscles going tight. “From where I stand it looks like you’re _ once again _ stealing away anyone I dare to care about-”

“Jesus Christ, Vergil,” Dante interrupted, dramatically scrubbing a hand over his face, “Are you goddamn _ blind _? That kid’s obviously head-over-heels for you, and not in that cute I-wanna-be-just-like-my-daddy way.”

Vergil felt himself bristle at that, but he outwardly maintained his firm resolve. He’d known, of course. That hypersexualized behavior was way past abnormal. His own reaction to it was also abhorrent. But _ that _ was something he intended to work out with V, together.

You have to break badly-healed bones to help them set back into the right places.

“Of course I know, Dante,” Vergil replied angrily.

“And what? You’re just _ fine _ with that?” Dante scoffed.

“Does that bother you?”

“Kind of, yeah!” Dante flailed his hands uselessly in the air. “In case you _ forgot _, I used to be exactly like-”

“You weren’t,” Vergil interjected. “You hid _ everything _from me.”

“What? You’re joking. Are you saying V’s more _ honest _ than _ me _?! Nothing about that kid’s honest, Verg. He lives on lies like we-”

“Live on lies? Dante… You can’t stand there and preach to me the virtue of honesty. Not when you and Nero have been lying to my face ever since you arrived.”

That got Dante to shut up. It also proved to Vergil that he was right. There was something going on. There were probably several things he wasn’t being let in on, in fact. It felt like his entire family was lying to him in varied degrees.

Dante looked like he was suffering, a deep emotional pain tucked in the furrow of his brow and the dryness of his lips. Vergil had struck a chord; one of those conversations Dante didn’t want to have. But Vergil would have his long-coming cleansing. 

“What are you hiding from me, Dante?” Vergil asked, low and calm but it was a threat, too.

Probably sensing that, Dante took a single step back. Vergil stepped forward, following, then he seized Dante by the collar of his jacket. He pulled and then pivoted Dante, who let out a startled grunt before Vergil slammed him back against the decaying metal door of the chapel. The door shook and bits of rust showered off of it. Dante gripped his hands around Vergil’s arms, ready to fight back but he apparently stopped himself.

“Answer.” Vergil insisted, almost begging even though he knew he wasn’t going to like anything that came out of Dante’s mouth next. 

“Vergil,” Dante closed his eyes.

A moment passed where he stayed like that. Vergil sensed he was thinking deeply. But that could have also been because he was trying to come up with more lies or excuses. Vergil twisted his hands in Dante’s lapel even tighter and then shook him again, making the old door creak.

Dante’s eyes opened again and Vergil could see them shining. “Okay, fine. Here we go…”

Vergil watched Dante’s mouth as it drew in breath through his teeth.Each word that followed felt like a nail driving straight into Vergil’s chest, absorbing into the molten rage that had been growing inside him by the second.

“I’m in love with Nero.”


	11. V

V couldn’t keep the pit from opening up in his stomach. He carried his basket into the kitchen telling himself that it probably wasn’t as bad as he worried it would be. Vergil was angry, but he was sensible. He just wanted to talk.

But he was talking with  _ Dante _ . Dante, who had just admitted to trying to get V to leave. He should have known that would do nothing but anger his brother. What was the point? Hadn’t  _ he _ been the one crying to V about not wanting to hurt Vergil anymore? Even if it were said in a bid to be honest, this would surely hurt Vergil, too. 

When V headed back outside to grab another basket he knew his fear was justified. He could hear shouting before he got out the door. There was a tremendous cacophony of noise, not just voices. V couldn’t see where they were, but he knew the direction they’d gone.

Alarmed, his eyes darted around for Nero. His brother wasn’t near the chopping block anymore. Had he gone back inside? V decided to look for him, knowing he himself wouldn’t be able to intervene effectively. 

Something in the back of his mind castigated him for this. It was foolish to want to stop these events unfolding. He’d longed for this, the day his pitifully broken little family would tear itself to pieces. Why not just accept this and go delight in watching Vergil tear Dante apart? It would be their joint vengeance.

No, he didn’t want that anymore. It wouldn’t make him happy. It wouldn’t make Vergil happy, either.

Hurrying inside, V called out for Nero by name. And he continued calling for him until he saw Nero jog toward him from the sitting room with a justified look of confusion. He must have come in to restock the wood bins.

“What?” Nero asked once he caught sight of V. “What’s going on?”

“You need to go outside,” V pleaded and hoped that Nero would believe his sincerity. “They’re fighting.”

For just a second Nero had an expression of disbelief. Then his eyes widened. He suddenly realized what it must have meant.

“Shit!” He shouted, then ran past V outside.

V watched his brother dash past the garden and around the corner along the path. He followed as swiftly as he could. As he rounded the bend he saw a decaying outbuilding. Its door was stuck inwardly. The shouting was coming from inside. Now Nero’s voice was added to the mess. V picked up his cane and decided to run, fighting the pain splintering from his ankle.

Inside he saw Dante sprawled on the floor with Vergil stooped over him. Vergil’s left fist was twisted in the front of Dante’s shirt. The right took a swing and slammed across Dante’s face. The impact was heavy. Dante made a choking noise. The blood that was already pouring from Dante’s nose and mouth splattered across the dirty, cracked tiles on the floor.

Nero shouted at Vergil to stop but Vergil didn’t listen. He hit Dante again. Dante didn’t move to fight back. Looking closer, V noticed Dante had one hand gripped white-knuckle tight around Vergil’s left wrist. The other laid at an odd angle on the floor, limp. That arm may have been dislocated, possibly broken. 

Nero seized Vergil by the forearm before he could swing again. Vergil fought the grapple but Nero leaned back, putting almost all of his body weight into keeping Vergil from swinging. Continuing to struggle, Vergil kept his hold on Dante’s front.

“I asked you for one thing! One fucking thing Dante!” Vergil screamed at Dante, his voice breaking into a hitch that delivered a spike into V’s heart as he listened. “Why did I believe you?! You destroy every promise you make!”

V felt frozen. He couldn’t decide what to do. Any thought that this was  _ exactly _ what he wanted was gone. Now he could only focus on what he could do to make it stop. To end all the anger and hurt in his father’s voice.

“Dad, stop!” Nero yelled at Vergil, pulling and pulling at him, but Vergil would hardly budge.

Vergil let out a seething growl and turned his attention to Nero. At that angle, V could see a deep red mark curving all along his cheekbone and up the orbit of his eye. So Dante  _ had _ fought back, at least for a time. He was panting so heavily it sounded almost like hyperventilation. 

“Do you even understand what he’s done to you?!” Vergil snapped at Nero.

Then he shoved Nero away, putting his whole shoulder into pushing Nero off-balance. Nero fell back and lost his grip. He landed onto the pile of ceiling beams and shingles that laid across the floor and rotting wooden pews. V recognized, belatedly, this building had been some sort of church. Nero let out a pained cry and one hand reached back to grab at his lower back. He must have hit his tailbone hard against the beam he landed on.

Vergil’s attention turned back to Dante. V saw him punch Dante again. Dante wheezed, but he lifted his head to look Vergil in the eyes. His voice was ragged and soft, but V could still hear his words:

“You gonna really kill me here? Well, I guess it’s the best place for it, huh?” 

“Silence!” Vergil cried, bitter and enraged, his voice layered in decades of pain. “I’ve had enough, Dante! You’ve done enough! No more!”

_ No more. No more.  _

V’s last words to Urizen echoed in his mind. He remembered them as if he were back in that moment. His hand clutched around his cane. He’d been so certain that killing Urizen would put an end to all his suffering, all his agony. But it hadn’t. It just left the wounds wide open. Unfillable voids.

Vergil’s right hand wrapped around the front of Dante’s throat. V’s heart leaped. He dropped his cane. He ran, stumbling but unable to feel the twinging pain in his leg anymore. All he could think about was making Vergil stop, knowing this would only torture him more in the end. V grabbed Vergil’s shoulders. He wasn’t strong - not even close to Nero’s mass - but he still had to try.

Releasing Dante, Vergil easily shrugged V off. He turned. He swung. His fist caught V in the mouth. V fell from the sheer force of it. V’s lip split open and he tasted blood.

“V?” Vergil stared at him, eyes wide like he only just realized who he’d hit.

And then a blur. Nero had rushed Vergil and tackled him to the ground. V watched his brother pin their father down, his legs wrapping tightly at Vergil’s waist and one hand went to his throat. The other hand cocked back into a fist and hovered there. Nero was sobbing as he looked down at Vergil, his face bright red and his eyes squinting angrily through his tears.

“It’s  _ my _ fault, Dad,” Nero cried, “Dante didn’t ruin me.”

Vergil still panted, glaring up at Nero. He gripped at the hand about his throat, trying to pry it off. 

“ _ I _ ruined  _ him _ .” Nero continued, shaking. 

V could tell Nero wasn’t trying to strangle Vergil, because their father’s breaths were so clear, if rapid. But when Vergil moved to shove Nero off, Nero gripped tighter to make him stop.

“I love him,” Nero’s voice almost hiccuped. 

Vergil froze in place then. It was hard to tell if he was going to reply. Nero kept speaking regardless:

“He tried to make me stop. He tried to do what you asked, Dad.  _ I _ was the one that pushed  _ him _ .”

V watched this interaction tensely. He tried to prepare himself to get back up and put himself between his father and brother. But the fight didn’t escalate. Vergil stayed still, listening, though his expression grew ever more confused and hurt. But, minutely, Vergil’s tightly-wound muscles appeared to relax with his breathing. Nero’s hand loosened around Vergil’s neck and his other hand dropped to his side.

“If anything he’s  _ my _ victim,” Nero laughed humorlessly.

“You’re both sick,” Vergil finally replied, still seething with anger but the fight was gone.

“Yeah,” Nero nodded, sniffling, “But we’re happy bein’ sick together.”

Then Nero climbed off of Vergil. He crawled over to where Dante laid. V noticed that Dante had been watching, too, though that may have been because he’d been too beaten up to move effectively. Nero started to fuss over Dante, checking his wounds and speaking in low, trembling tones. His brother sounded so weak, but he looked so strong.

V looked to Vergil, who took a moment to sit up after Nero left. Unsure of what to do, V just followed the racing call of his heart. He went to Vergil’s side. There was a second of hesitation as he recalled how Vergil had hit him last time he tried to help. But he pushed that away, knowing Vergil had only been caught up in his own anger. V carefully looked over his father.

The mark on Vergil’s face was deepening in color to a darker bruise. In the center of it was a small cut. Part of the redness was blood that had gotten smeared across his skin. There were more scratches across the other side of his face, lower near his jaw. Vergil’s hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, sticking up or matted down in odd places. 

V thought there were probably more bruises hidden under Vergil’s clothes. Looking to his hands, V noted some bruises and cuts on his father’s knuckles. The ring finger on his right hand looked particularly discolored and swollen.

Vergil stared at him. His sight looked unclear, almost like he was staring through V. Then he refocused and he looked so suddenly fragile that V’s pulse caught in his throat.

“Your lip,” Vergil said softly, “It’s bleeding.”

V licked over the split instinctively, then sucked a little. He didn’t want Vergil to focus on that. He’d already forgiven it. Some would say he had it coming - that he deserved worse.

“We should get you patched up,” V tried to redirect the conversation.

Vergil frowned even more deeply. But then he sighed and climbed onto his feet. V watched as he glanced over to Nero and Dante. The expression that flickered across his face was unreadable to V, something too layered to understand in the half-second it was there.

Vergil started walking toward the wide-open rusted door of the chapel. A cold breeze blew inside. V watched it rustle his father’s hair and clothes. Just before he reached the exit, Vergil stopped. He bent down and picked up V’s cane. Turning back, he held it out to V, waiting patiently for him to reach up and take it. Once he did, Vergil started walking away again.

Using the cane to get himself up, V addressed his brother: “I’ll go assist Father. You take care of Dante.”

“Yeah,” Nero blinked up at him and nodded. “Thanks, V.

It was a genuine appreciation. So V nodded back to him and hoped it came across as genuine as well, because it was. Then V left the chapel - following the path Vergil had taken - pressing his fingers against the split in his lip hoping to stop the bleed by the time he got back to the house. 


	12. Dante

There was a ringing in Dante’s ears. A constant high-pitched squeal, like someone left a speaker plug just slightly unplugged. He could hear other sounds and voices, but the ringing was so strong it was difficult to focus on anything else.

Vergil had beat him up. Dante had fought back, a little. But his arm… His arm…

He tried to move it but it flopped uselessly at the elbow and sent a splintering pain shooting up into his shoulder and neck. The joint bulged a little in the back. Dislocated, probably. He considered trying to shove it back into place himself, but the pain was too great. Everything hurt. He could hear Nero crying and that hurt, too. 

Dante wasn’t aware his vision had blurred until he heard Nero’s voice come closer. He looked toward his nephew but everything was so milky and fuzzy in his sight. He tasted blood - thick coagulating globs of it - and he spat it out to the side opposite where Nero crowded him. Squeezing his eyes shut, then blinking them open again, Dante managed to clear his vision a little more to look at Nero. Red-faced Nero with his cheeks all wet and his nose all sniffling and his breathing all erratic. Dante wasn’t sure he personally had the strength to cry, but his bleary eyes stung all the same.

“Hey don’t cry,” Dante tried to soothe Nero, “I’m not dead. Unless I am. But if you’re here then that means I’m in Heaven, right?”

“Shut up,” Nero sobbed through his teeth, but Dante pretended that was because he was trying not to laugh.

Everything happened so fast. He was vaguely aware that Vergil had gotten up and left the chapel. V exchanged some words with Nero. Dante still felt dizzy and his ears still rang. Vergil hadn’t killed him, but he’d sure rattled Dante’s brain against the inside of his skull. He’d turned on Nero and V, too. 

It’d been a very long time since Vergil had gotten so physically brutal with anyone. Not that Dante didn’t recognize he deserved it, but he was disheartened to see Nero get caught in the crossfire. (Maybe he did feel a little bad for V, too.) 

“Are you okay?” Dante asked once he remembered the way Nero had fallen on his back.

“What? You’re all busted up and you’re asking _ me _-” Nero shook his head, then he reached up to gently palpate his thumbs against the sides of Dante’s nose.

“Ah! Hurts-” Dante winced because the ache stung enough to make his eyes water again. “Yeah, I’m asking. So answer, kid, c’mon.”

“I’ll be fine, alright?” Nero wiped at the moisture on his own face, but that only made him smear bits of dirt over his cheek. “You need to see a doctor.”

Dante wanted to protest, but he knew Nero was right. His elbow was disjointed and his nose could have been broken and his ears wouldn’t stop ringing. He was a mess. Nero would only stubbornly drag his ass out if he refused.

“What about Vergil? And V?” Dante asked as Nero stood up next to him.

“They’re fine, didn’t you hear?” Nero went to Dante’s other side to help pull him up by the still good arm. “V’s gonna take care of him so just… Let’s just get you some help okay?”

Dante hissed inwardly against the pain as he jostled around to stand up. He could feel dirt clinging to him, even through his clothes. Bits of grass and mud and splintered wood. His back probably had rust-stains to match the bloodstains on the front. He felt his heart sink. This place had already seen enough violence. It was supposed to be left to rest.

The tiled floors were all cracked, especially around the area near the door where the roof had caved in. Between the cracks and crumbling grout grew moss and weeds. Some vines and roots crawled across the floor and up the limestone walls, escaping through broken window panes. Dante used to admire the stained glass mosaics especially. Now they were all missing pieces, a rainbow laying shattered on the ground. He looked to where the wood altar used to be, but the dais only held debris. 

There was a poem Vergil liked about places like this - monuments to glory left for nature to reclaim. Dante wondered if he could remember it, but then thought he wouldn’t like to. It would only make him sad. Make him yearn for what used to be.

“Sorry guys,” He apologized quietly, not speaking to Nero but knowing the other was listening anyway. 

He wanted to say more. But talking always got him in trouble. So he decided to leave it at that and let Nero shoulder his good arm and guide him back outside. 

Nero limped. Dante knew that Nero was probably hurt more than he’d let on. That was just how the kid was; always swallowing his own suffering to focus on others. As they walked around the house (taking the long way to avoid Vergil, probably) Dante placed his hand very lightly at Nero’s lower back. Nero flinched, looking to Dante with a mix of surprise and anguish.

“I’m okay, really.” Nero preempted Dante’s concern.

“It’d make me feel better if we got you checked out too,” Dante tried to offer a lopsided smile, though it probably looked kind of grotesque with all the blood and bruises. 

“Cheeky,” Nero huffed, pouting a little, “You know I can’t refuse if you put it that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dante gave a soft laugh.

They reached Nero’s truck and Nero opened the passenger side first. He helped Dante up. Dante made a pretty pathetic sort of cry as he climbed up one-handedly. His whole body throbbed in pain. The days when he and his brother could scrap and then be fine not ten minutes later were gone. Then again, that was more than just a normal backyard scrabble.

He watched Nero round the front of the truck toward the driver's side. Nero kept his hand on the hood as he limped along. Dante could tell he was trying not to grimace, but the tightness of his brow and the flaring of his nostrils betrayed his pain. When Nero climbed up into his seat he couldn’t hold back an anguished grunt. Once he sat, he gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward, keeping pressure off his back. He rested his forehead against the top of the wheel. Dante waited patiently, letting Nero steady his breathing.

“We could just call an ambulance or something,” Dante offered. “Or suck it up and ask-”

“I’m not asking Vergil for anything,” Nero winced as he forced himself to sit back.

Dante caught Nero didn’t say “Dad”. That sent a sad pang through his heart. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Dante replied gently and Nero looked to him with still-bloodshot eyes. “Don’t go pushing your dad away because of this. It’s my fault. _ Our _ fault. _ We _ kept this from him. Lied to him. I can’t blame him for reacting like that. We knew it could end up like this, remember?”

Nero sat still and listened. Then he nodded somberly. He stuck his key in the ignition and turned. The truck cranked to life and the vents started blowing, though the air would take a bit to warm up. 

“He’s probably done with me, anyway,” Nero sighed, looking down at the center of the steering wheel. “I basically just told him I love you more than him.”

“Well, I kinda told him we’ve been fucking, too, so…” Dante tried to shrug but - ow, right, busted arm - he ended up just cradling his elbow with his other hand to keep it steady. “And then I hooked him for implying it wasn’t consensual. I’m pretty sure he’s done with both of us.”

Nero fixated on driving them to the dinky little urgent care clinic in town. Knowing it was useless to keep arguing, Dante decided to tell Nero about the part of the fight he’d missed. How Vergil literally had him backed against the wall when Dante told him he loved Nero. And how, after that, Dante kept letting the truth spill. It felt like he couldn’t stop. 

Once the floodgate opened, Dante told Vergil everything he felt. That he thought he started falling for Nero the first time he walked into his office. And that he thought Nero probably loved him for just as long, too. He’d said that Nero was the one who chased him, but Vergil wouldn’t accept that. 

Vergil refused to believe Dante hadn’t done something nefarious to get Nero into his bed. Even pouring out his heart and soul, Dante couldn’t convince Vergil his love for Nero went beyond physical lust. That hurt, for a lot of reasons. 

After Dante physically retaliated for the allegation that he’d forced Nero to sleep with him, Vergil had shoved him onto the floor. Dante landed hard. That’s what popped his elbow out of place. Nero showed up not long after that.

“He thought you assaulted me?” Nero asked incredulously as they started driving through the tight town streets.

“Maybe not that severe,” Dante replied, though he couldn’t know 100% what his brother thought about any of this, “But manipulated you? Or bribed you? Or lied in some measure anyway? I mean, on the surface you have every reason to hate me. I can see why he’d be suspicious that I tricked you. And…”

Dante trailed off. He was about to go into a memory that he didn’t really want to bring up. It was so long ago, but it probably had a lot to do with why Vergil thought so ill about Dante’s advances. Nero probably wasn’t going to let that slide, either.

“And, what?” Nero asked.

_ Damn it _.

“And…” Dante took a breath. “I sorta forced myself on him, when we were nineteen.”

“What?” Nero’s voice immediately sounded tense.

“Not anything crazy like that, no, I didn’t do _ that _ ,” Dante tried to reassure Nero though he was sure everything about this story could be filed under Crazy. “I kissed him though. We were arguing again and I was just… I was so caught up in trying to make him love me the way _ I wanted _ him to love me. Like it wasn’t good enough for him to just love me as a brother? He kept telling me to knock it off, ‘cause I kept flirting and touching and holding him. I mean, I was pretty clingy as a kid, but it got worse after our parents died. I knew it wasn’t right, but there I went doing it more anyway… I thought if I pushed _ just enough _he’d get it? So that day I finally just grabbed him and kissed him.”

“What did he do?” Nero sounded more curious then, instead of anxious.

“Punched me in the mouth,” Dante laughed because, yeah, that was apparently a pattern in his life. “He avoided me a lot more after that. Then he met your mom and, well…”

“Shoulda told him that _ I _ was the one that grabbed and kissed _ you _ first,” Nero grinned brightly and, for one blessed moment, Dante felt all the anguish inside him evaporate. “But yeah, I sorta get why that’d be the assumption he’d jump to. But he’s gotta understand the difference between then and now, though, right?”

“Even if he does, that doesn’t mean he’s gonna accept or forgive us. On top of the whole, y’know, _ incest thing _…” Dante pointed out as they pulled into the parking lot in front of the clinic. “We didn’t just burn that bridge, we blew it up and watched it float down the river.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Nero chuckled as he turned off the engine.

“Runs in the family,” Dante smiled back, even though smiling kind of hurt his face at the moment.

Inside the clinic was warm and virtually empty of other patients. Nero apparently knew one of the doctors on duty, because they greeted him all friendly-like as they took them both to an exam room. Dante learned they’d been Nero's somewhat regular doctor back when he was in high school. He asked if that meant he’d get a discount on this visit, but the doctor joked back that they might charge him double just for all the headaches Nero caused as a teen.

“I wasn’t built for private school,” Nero shrugged though his expression was a little sheepish, “Buncha rich kids acting tough, telling me I was a charity case.”

“You were probably richer than most of them,” Dante commented while the doctor carefully cleaned the blood off his face. “Though that might’ve made them even worse.”

“It was more fun to knock them down a few pegs,” Nero joked, “Dad really didn’t seem to care what I did anyway.”

“Well, if it was justified…” Dante mused, noting Nero was back to _ Dad _ already, sentimental kid. “You know, he used to get in fights at school, too.”

“No way,” Nero sounded honestly surprised.

“Yeah! Not that he went around looking for trouble like, uh, _ I did _, but… If he saw something he didn’t agree with he’d step up. Sometimes it was some asshole harassing a chick in the hallway. Sometimes it was some asshole trying to forge the grade book…”

“Why do I get the feeling that “asshole” was yo-”

“It wasn’t _ always _ me!” Dante claimed loudly, which only made Nero start laughing. 

It took a couple of hours to get himself patched up. Dante tried to keep the mood up while the doctor poked and prodded and set everything back into its proper place. His nose took the longest to fix. Hurt like a bitch, too, even with the medication they injected there to numb it. Luckily the break wasn’t severe enough for surgery. He did look pretty ridiculous with the huge bandage laid across it, and the splints inside felt weird. In all, he had a dislocated elbow, a broken nose, a perforated eardrum, and a scattering of abrasions and bruises.

Nero tried to get away with checking out once Dante was done. The way he limped gave away any attempt he made at dismissal. Dante reminded him that he was only gonna worry unless Nero got checked out. So Nero finally caved. One crabby x-ray later, it turned out he had pretty severely bruised his coccyx. No breakage, though. He’d probably be hurting for a while, but with some cautious care he’d heal up fine.

When they finally exited the clinic it was early evening. The cloud cover made it seem later than it was. Dante adjusted his arm in its sling, already finding the thing annoying. Nero would have gotten mad if he took it off, though. Looking to Nero, he noticed his nephew standing still with his keys in one hand. He was looking off in the direction of the road they’d have to take back to the house. 

“We’ll have to go back,” Dante said, patting a hand against Nero’s shoulder. “To get our stuff at least.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nero sighed.

Dante gave a sympathetic smile. Truth be told, he wasn’t really in the mood to head back yet either. He knew they would have to, not just for their things but to also face Vergil. They would have to say goodbye, maybe for the last time. That was inevitable, and it sucked. But they were also beaten down and tired as hell. 

“Maybe in the morning, then.” Dante squeezed Nero’s shoulder a little. “I still got some cash left in my wallet after the nose repair bill-”

“You sound so weird,” Nero did a poor job hiding his laugh.

“I got tubes and shit all up in there! _ You _ try talking with two bendy straws up your airholes, jackass.” Dante laughed too even though laughing still hurt. “There’s a hotel in town. Let’s stay the night there and rest up before we go back for round two, yeah?”

Nero agreed easily to that idea. The hotel was nicer than the one they’d stayed in on the road trip. More expensive, too, but Dante didn’t complain about it. After the hell of that day, it felt sort of nice. Nero deserved some sort of compensation, at least. Maybe that was just Dante’s excuse to spoil him.

Not having any luggage, they just went directly to their room. Another suite with two beds, though they would only use one. Once Dante closed the door behind them, Nero gingerly pressed a palm against his neck and leaned in. Dante’s pulse fluttered.

“I missed you,” Nero whispered, kissing him lightly.

“Missed you too,” Dante knew the smile he gave was sadder than he wanted it to be, so he kissed Nero again to make up for it.

They were too busted up for sex and they both knew it. That would have been a shame if Dante weren’t wholly focused on resting up and preparing for the next day. There would be plenty of time leftover once they got home. He’d always suspected they probably wouldn’t spend the whole two weeks with Vergil. He _ hadn’t _ expected to be the one at fault for cutting the visit short.

Nero stripped down to his underpants and his undershirt to get more comfortable. Dante made sure the space heater mounted in the window was turned up toasty enough. Then he also got down to just his underwear. (He probably wouldnt put the bloodiest articles back on.) His nephew was already laid out on his stomach on the bed by then. Crawling in on the other side, Dante tried to get comfortable with his sling on. When that proved impossible, he took it off and chucked it onto the bedside table, promising he’d put it back on in the morning. 

It was too early to sleep, even though he felt like he probably could and still wake up late. Nero turned on the TV even though he couldn’t really watch it. He commented on just wanting to listen to something other than old movies for once. So they kept on a documentary channel and learned about deep-sea fish for a while.

Reaching carefully, Dante eventually slid Nero’s shirt up enough to get a look at his lower back. Nero squirmed a little but otherwise didn’t protest. There was a large, round deep purple-red bruise just at the low waistband of Nero’s underpants; most of it was obscured by the material. Dante winced, imagining how painful it must have been. Then he rolled over just enough so he could very gently plant a kiss over it. 

“You’re kissing my butt,” Nero chuckled.

“No, I’m kissing your tailbone,” Dante informed him, then he pulled down the waistband to expose part of Nero’s asscheek to kiss that. “_ Now _ I’m kissing your butt.”

Nero snorted a happy - if sleepy - noise. Dante readjusted Nero’s clothes into their proper places. Then he stretched out next to Nero’s side. He let his hand rest against the upper part of Nero’s back, over the shirt. After a moment, Dante started making small circles over Nero’s shoulders. He felt his nephew start to relax under his touch. He repeated that until he could hear Nero snoring softly into his pillow.

They were so lucky to have each other, Dante thought as he stared at Nero’s peacefully sleeping form. _ He _ was so lucky to have someone that understood him - loved him -, that fought for him, even if it was his own nephew. Some people never had that. Not in their whole lives.

Dante thought about Vergil.

And Dante thought about V.

And Dante couldn’t fall asleep at all... 


	13. Vergil

Vergil’s anger was a razor-sharp cord stretched tight through his body. Like a guitar string left to hum a single off-tuned vibration, it trembled from his throat and through his stomach. The drawn bow of his spine twisted and pulled him taut. He ached inside, but his face looked so placid in the mirror. 

The bruise across his cheek was purple near the center, spreading in web-like red splotches radially outward. The cut across the orbit of his eye was minimal. It had bled, but by the time he’d made it to the master suite bathroom it was already clotted. When he blinked his skin ached. But he just stared beyond his reflection, thinking and remembering.

He didn’t want to change his mind.

After Dante made his admission, Vergil was so incensed he immediately bashed Dante through the chapel door. Memories flooded him; all the times he’d told Dante to stop with his touching and his suggestions only to have his brother ignore them, even though Vergil was obviously upset in some way or another. It wasn’t just because Dante was his brother. Dante was a selfish sort of aggressor. Someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer because he was so certain he knew what he was doing was “best” for everyone involved. The day Dante kissed him sent Vergil into a panic. He’d worried that things would only escalate from there if he couldn’t make Dante understand his brand of “love” was harmful.

And they did escalate, didn’t they? Just not in the way Vergil thought they would. He’d hoped to lead by example, finding someone he loved and treating her with respect and gentility. If Dante could see how love was supposed to be, Vergil hoped his brother would recognize that his “love” for Vergil was twisted and wrong. That was naive, Vergil realized too late. It only served to make Dante’s unhealthy obsession worse. 

So, when Dante used that word - “love” - to describe how he felt about Nero, all Vergil could see was how that love had played out in his own life. Dante being in love with you was a dark and selfish thing. He loved you for what you gave him, or what he wanted from you, and he would try to consume you until you were wholly his. That is what Vergil thought. _ That _ is why Vergil so violently tried to defend his son from the monster that lived inside his brother.

But he wasn’t protecting Nero, was he?

Nero defended Dante, but he was also defending himself from Vergil. What had he meant when he said _ Dante _ was his victim? Was he telling the truth when he said Dante tried to push him away? Vergil had many questions but he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to hear the answers.

How many times in his life would he be humbled? How many times would he be wrong?

A gentle knocking came from the bathroom door. Vergil wasn’t certain how long he’d been standing there staring. It was probably V on the other side. Part of him didn’t want to face his other son, either.

“Come in,” Vergil said anyway, watching through the mirror as the door opened behind him. 

V peeked in still mostly hidden behind the door. It was an unusual show of timidity. Vergil found he didn’t like that side to V. No, what he didn’t like most was the fact that he himself could be blamed for making V seem so wary. 

After a moment V pushed the rest of the way into the room. Vergil noticed he was carrying a folded washcloth - one that had come from the guest washroom. 

“I looked for some first aid supplies but…” V trailed off, walking to the second vanity sink next to the one Vergil stood in front of. 

For some reason Vergil thought about the last time the master bathroom had two occupants. Such a small memory. Mundane morning routines. It’d been over twenty years since? Vergil couldn’t recall the last time he’d used that side of the vanity himself.

“Nero and Dante left,” V said as he set his cane against the counter and started wetting the cloth. “I’m sure they’re headed to a hospital.”

Probably the urgent clinic in town, Vergil thought. He hadn’t noticed how badly he’d beaten Dante up. He’d been blinded by his viceral panic and anger. It seemed a lot of his problems were created whenever he let his emotions get out of control.

A soft brush against his palm. Vergil looked down to see V barely touching the inside of his hand with a finger. He glanced to V, seeing the question in his son’s eyes before it left his lips.

“Let me help?” 

Vergil felt confused at first, but then he realized V was referring to the injuries on his right hand. He’d been aware of the pain, but hadn’t intended to do anything about it. Still, it was a kind gesture from V. He didn’t want to turn it down, so he nodded. V carefully lifted his hand up and began gingerly dabbing the cloth over his knuckles and fingers, wiping away the blood that was drying there. 

Watching this, Vergil thought about how V had reacted to the fight. He’d tried to pull Vergil away from Dante, like Nero had. Unlike Nero, Vergil had an even more difficult time figuring out V’s motive. Yes, V was trying to be civil at Vergil’s request, but to actually try to intervene? He thought his son would have found some amusement in this farce. But he’d looked so concerned, even after Vergil had hit him.

Raising his gaze, Vergil looked at the split on V’s bottom lip. It was slightly off-center. Bright pink along the edges with a deep red middle. Not bleeding anymore, but he imagined it hurt. He felt compelled to touch it for some reason. Lifting his free hand, Vergil let his thumb run so very lightly over V’s lip. V took a sharp inward breath and turned his head away.

Vergil let his hand fall. A disappointed knot tied itself in his throat. But why? Why did he feel so compelled to comfort V? V, who apparently honestly considered leaving just because Dante had told him to…

“Are you really going to leave?” Vergil asked bluntly the thought that was on his mind.

V stilled for a moment. Then he started dabbing at Vergil’s hand again. The blood was gone and the tiny cuts on his knuckles were clean. But V kept patting and Vergil kept allowing that.

“I should,” V replied softly.

“Why?” Vergil asked, trying to keep his voice steady and soft, too.

“My affection for you is dangerous.” V’s brow tensed, pinching, and his hand stopped its movement. “If I stay, I’ll become like _ him _.”

“Like Dante?”

“Maybe.”

V dropped Vergil’s hand. He set the cloth on the counter next to the sink. His expression churned, sadness edging his eyes.

“You poor, lonely man,” V said. “Doomed to be loved in all the ways you don’t want to be. Trapped with these rotten people.”

Vergil felt a shifting sensation within himself, as if those broken jigsaw puzzle pieces were finally starting to fall into place. An illuminating, terrifying sensation.

“You knew about them?” Vergil asked, slow and careful.

V lowered his head. No need for words. Vergil understood the answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked V, knowing he sounded more harsh this time. 

V gave a joyless laugh. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to. My entire purpose for being here. Meeting you…”

When V tilted his head back upward the pain in his eyes had deepened. There was an open vulnerability there that made Vergil’s breath weaken. It was always difficult to tell when V was being honest. But in that moment Vergil felt the raw burn of V’s voice, as if it were grating against his skin.

“I could say I was trying to protect you. That you so desperately wanted to keep a relationship with Nero that I couldn’t bear hurting you with the truth. But…” V stepped back, shut his eyes, and rubbed a hand over his mouth for a moment before continuing. “The truth is I only wanted to selfishly keep you to myself. I knew once you found out about Dante and Nero you’d be consumed by them, in one way or another. I liked having your attention on only me.”

“I’m so jealous of them,” V said, his voice small. “I believe they _ are _ genuinely in love. For what that’s worth to you.”

V tried to bite his lip but then winced when the cut probably stung. Vergil had to ignore the urge to reach again to try and soothe it. His pulse shook in his chest. He couldn’t define what emotion was there, only that the intensity of it made him cling to every word V said. 

“I had a plan,” V continued, breaking, chuckling darkly at himself, “I have pictures! I had an entire fantasy that I would expose them to you and then watch this whole wretched family tear itself apart. I wanted to make everyone suffer as I am! I wanted to hate you. I wanted-”

The V cringed and he wiped at his eyes with the heel of one palm. Vergil reached over the counter to a box of tissue. Grabbing a few sheets, he held them out to V. V stared at them a moment, then gave Vergil a sort of incredulous glare. Vergil just waited for V to take them, then pulled his hand back once he did.

“One thing you and I have in common,” Vergil pointed out while V wiped his face, “We rarely get what we want.”

V laughed and this time it held a measure of amusement. “No, we do not.”

That V’s wants were so selfish and dark was not exactly a surprise. That much was clear from the way he’d behaved those first few days. But he was also capable of change. He’d been making efforts - in his own V-like way - to better himself according to Vergil’s direction. That was enough to show that V wasn’t wholly the broken, unworthwhile reject he made himself out to be. 

“What do you want now?” Vergil asked, fully expecting the slightly confused and annoyed look V returned.

“You’re an intelligent man, Father. I’m certain you’ve figured that out by now.” 

“In part,” Vergil nodded, recalling how confused Dante had been when he’d admitted he had some understanding of V’s feelings. “But lately my assumptions have been off their mark. I’d like to hear how things stand from you directly.”

V sighed, looking down at the crumpled tissue in his hand. He leaned against the vanity counter, taking some weight off his left leg. Vergil wondered if V was tired, or hurting, more than usual because of the fight. 

“I have fallen outrageously in love with you,” V swallowed perceptibly before continuing on. “And it only gets worse every day. _ That _ is why I must leave. I will not burden you with this, like Dante did. More selfishly, I will not burden _ myself _.”

“Loving me is a burden?” Vergil asked, honestly surprised to hear it said aloud.

V nodded once, glancing back to Vergil’s eyes and holding his gaze there. “Because you make it so easy to do so, and so hard to quit.”

“And what if I want you to stay, despite that?” Vergil stepped toward V then, only to have him back up more.

“No, you stupid man.” V huffed and shook his head. “You want a _ son _, and I can’t be that. Nero can, if you can reconcile with him. He desperately wants you to be his father, regardless of what he says or does to the contrary.”

Vergil could almost feel the walls building up around V. His son’s protective mechanism, blocking out all the hurt and confusion he felt. While the bricks were laid Vergil felt compelled to tear them away. 

“Stop speaking as though I need to choose between both of you,” Vergil demanded levelly.

“Not that it’s much of a choice,” V gave another bitter laugh. “Nero has everything. Nero is _ allowed _ everything. Nero has friends and a home. Two homes. He has Dante. He has _ you _ . Nero has love. Nero has a _ name _.”

The more he spoke the more V’s voice broke between his anger and sorrow. Vergil waited patiently, letting him get this out. It was obvious this was the fuel behind V’s jealousy. This was probably a healthier way to let it burn.

“What do I have?” V asked at the end of his tirade. “Urizen, who is dead. Who couldn’t even name me himself.”

“And me,” Vergil replied simply. “You have me, too.”

V seemed startled by that admission, even though it was such a simple thing. That only made Vergil feel more frustrated. 

“You’re more than what Nero is not.” Vergil explained. “And you’re more than what Urizen said you were. _ I _ want to know the real you. But do you even know yourself?”

V froze up, even as Vergil stepped closer to him. Vergil kept his eyes on V’s. He could hear V’s breath hitching as his emotions riled back up, the tears threatening to come again after having been forcibly stifled. 

“Where does the act stop? Where are _ you _?” Vergil asked, knowing he wouldn’t possibly get a clear answer.

“I don’t know,” V pleaded. “I don’t-”

“Then we can find out together, can’t we?” Vergil pressed, unable to resist reaching and gingerly thumbing over that cut on V’s lip.

He felt so compelled to touch V in order to comfort him. Though, he realized now it was a comfort for himself as well. This was a need uniquely tied to V, something he hadn’t really felt when it came to Nero. He’d only hugged Nero once. But Vergil couldn’t stop finding ways to keep close to V.

That should have repulsed him. It was a bad sign that it didn’t.

“Don’t…” V nearly whined but this time he didn’t turn his head or otherwise try to avoid the touch. “You foolish old man, I can hardly breathe when I’m near you. If you touch me so kindly I’ll die.”

Vergil felt an odd sympathy for V. This was a cruelty, wasn’t it? Touching his son so gently, knowing the younger man was wound tight with his vile emotions. But maybe Vergil’s feelings were turning vile, too.

“Why?” V sobbed and Vergil felt his breath cross over his thumb and wrist. “Why are you still so nice to me?”

That was a bit of a shock; Vergil didn’t think he was being very nice at all.

“Is it because I’m your son?” V cried and that made Vergil pause. “Or because I look like my mother?”

Vergil felt his stomach bottom out at that. His chest tightened. These were genuine concerns for V to have. It made Vergil question himself, too. But the doubt was quickly diminished, almost as soon as it formed in his mind. Whatever was driving him went beyond these simple facts. There was more to it, even if Vergil couldn’t place an exact definition upon it just yet.

So he shook his head and he let his hand move from V’s lip to caress along his jawline while he answered: “You really think it's impossible for me to care about you?”

“You don’t know me.” V replied, leaning his head into Vergil’s touch anyway.

That action sent a warmth through Vergil’s limb, spiraling from where their skin touched into his chest. There was that signal in the back of his brain warning him of the danger in this. The same alarm that had triggered weeks ago when he’d reacted erotically to V’s touch. This time, Vergil chose to ignore it in order to savor this moment, regardless of how disgusting it was.

“You don’t know yourself, either.” Vergil reminded him.

He slid his hand further to let his fingers thread in V’s soft dark hair. He let his thumb trace over V’s ear. The cartilage felt cold. So he brushed again to try and warm it. He felt V shiver as he did. Danger.

V’s hand encircled his wrist firmly. “Stop. Stop, please. I want…”

_ Danger. _

“What do you want?” Vergil asked.

_ I ruined him. _

“I want to kiss you…” V whispered; a cry, begging. “But I want you to know me first.”

_ I love him _.

“Okay,” Vergil nodded. 

He forced himself to remove his hand and step away from V’s body. His own body nearly ached to have that touch again. Feeling his brain start to unwind from its tightly tense coil, Vergil had to let out a long, slow breath. He looked to V, who seemed to also be gathering himself up after that interaction. 

“I need some time,” V said after a few quiet minutes. 

Vergil wouldn’t argue, feeling that he also needed to unscramble all that had happened that day. 

“Let’s take the night to rest,” He said calmly, watching as V went to pick up his cane. 

“And then?” V asked.

“We’ll get to know each other, properly.” Vergil tried to offer a smile and was warmed to have V return it as he walked by.

After V had fully left the master suite, Vergil let himself collapse backward onto his bed. This wasn’t always his room, of course, but he’d made it his own. It was a comfortable space, if not entirely as _ comforting _ as the drawing room was. Still, it was a welcome quiet spot for decompressing and analyzing the plethora of information that had assaulted him that day.

He could still feel the ghost of V’s skin against his palm. Vergil held that hand up. Staring at it didn’t make the sensation go away. Sighing, Vergil ended up covering his face with that hand, scrubbing over his eyes and then his mouth. His insides were still in turmoil, though he’d tried to keep his calm for V’s sake.

Starting over with a clean slate would be a good thing. He felt eager to know V without his mask. But there was also a terrible knowing, settling deep into his bones. That vile desire. This was no longer about having V as his son.

And it was far too late to stop that fall. 


	14. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird to get an editor in the middle of a multi-chapter fic? Anyway, thank you to [Lady_Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lavender) for editing this chapter!

Did Vergil even understand how easily he aroused V? Likely not, V thought as he shut his bedroom door behind him. His body was electrified, coursing hot with frenzied wanting. Vergil had barely touched him and he was falling apart, yet he spoke as if V’s need for space was purely psychological.

Leaning back against the door, V swiped a hand down the front of his borrowed jeans. Even though the clothing was loose, his cock was already half-swollen and uncomfortable. He ached needily. It had been a long time since he’d touched himself, let alone had sex with anyone. For someone with a drive like he had, these last few  _ weeks _ felt torturous. Particularly living with a man like his father, who could stimulate his body with just a glance.

V rubbed over himself a few more times, knowing that would not be enough. Sighing, he walked over to his bed and left his cane in its usual spot up against the bedside table. He’d been good. Didn’t he deserve a reward? 

V undressed, letting his clothing fall slow over his body to pool onto the floor at his feet. He imagined his father laying back on the bed, watching him. How Vergil’s steely eyes would rake over him. They would trace over his long, thin limbs and his twisting, dark tattoos. Would his father’s hands itch to touch him, still?

Climbing up onto the bed, V thought of crawling over Vergil. He’d run a hand through that silvery hair and purposefully mess it up. Maybe his father would be annoyed by that. Maybe he would kiss V before flipping him onto his back. 

V settled back onto his pillows. He lifted a hand to trace his thumb over the cut on his lip - trying to mimic the feather soft touch Vergil gave him. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers slide down his own throat to his chest, willing his imagination to picture his father’s gentle, purposeful caressing. He swiped his tongue wetly over his lips. Vergil would kiss him and mean it.

He let his left hand slide over his left nipple, stopping to pinch and squeeze there, lighting up his nerves in a hot rush. Would his father instinctively know all the places that set V’s body on fire? Were Vergil’s sensitive spots the same? He wanted to know. He wanted to drive Vergil so crazy that he’d beg V to let him in.

Lower, V let his fingers trace over his ribs and slot into the spaces in between. He’d always been thin. These days he’d gained some muscle simply from being on the run. It wasn’t a lot. Some men liked that he was light; that made him easy to pick up and bend to whatever strange positions they wanted him in. V imagined that his father would appreciate his body, too. 

Lower still. Both hands slid down his sides, curving to his taut abdomen. Here the tattoos gave way to pale skin. He’d wanted to add more, to cover the pink and white scars. Maybe someday he would. V followed one that extended a few inches from his belly button toward his right hip. A broken beer bottle there; some man who smelled like cheap musky deodorant and alcohol and cigars. He didn’t like the way V looked at him. V never learned his name.

V shook his head, dismissing that memory and pulling up his fantasy again. Vergil’s strong hands would run over him so kindly. His father would wash away every memory of every scar, and every touch of every man that wasn’t him. It was enough to make V shiver.

His hands found his hips. He followed those jutting bones, rolling his hips experimentally just to feel them move. His cock was heavy, and shifted uncomfortably as he moved. But V wanted to tease himself just a little more, thinking about the ways Vergil would lovingly taunt him with his touch. 

Remembering the way Vergil’s thumb felt as it softly ran over V’s ear lobe made V’s skin crawl hot with goosebumps. His ears tingled, growing warm. He withdrew his left hand to touch that ear again. He tried to keep the brush as light as Vergil had.

Finally, V slid his right hand down around his cock. This touch he kept soft, too, for as long as he could stand it. Fingers followed the sides and ghosting over the tip. He swirled his index finger in his pre-ejaculate, pressing just hard enough over the reddened head to make himself groan. V pinched his index and thumb over the head, squeezing off and on. It was like an erotic switch, sending coils of need spiraling deeply to the base of his spine.

As he began to pump his cock with stronger, tighter strokes V fantasized about Vergil’s hand replacing his. Just the idea made him groan out loud and flush with embarrassment. But the threat that Vergil could hear him also sent a thrill rocketing through V’s chest. His whole body jolted with heat.

V brought the fingers of his left hand to his mouth again. This time he ghosted them over his lips, sinking his two central digits in over his teeth and along his tongue. He considered what his father’s tongue would feel like. He imagined what his father’s fingers would taste like. V rolled his tongue over his own fingers, coating them with thick, slick saliva from the back of his throat. How far would Vergil’s cock go down?

Pulling those fingers out, V lifted his hips up to slip that hand down underneath him. He pressed them inside his ass. They slid in past his body’s natural resistances. He hadn’t expected to feel the stretch as strongly as he did. But it had been a while. It was exciting to think that Vergil’s cock would fill him even more. His father would be careful, of course, but V wanted to imagine it would still hurt a little. That he could pretend he was all brand new again. Unused. 

V fucked himself with his fingers and lamented how inadequate it felt. He jerked his cock, longing for the solid heat of his father filling him up over and over. His pleasure was frustratingly subdued, owing to the need to keep discreet. V bit down on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet, but that made the cut split open again. His tastebuds lit up with the coppery taste of blood and the stinging pain was exciting enough to make his toes curl against the bed. 

Soon the pressure overwhelmed him. V shook, holding his cock at the base while his abdomen seized and his hips thrust upward. His cum shot out in desperate, thick rounds cascading over his stomach and settling in sticky liquid pools on his skin. He stroked himself some more to encourage his body to empty itself of all its pent-up lust. 

Finally, V settled back against the bed, removing his hands from his body and laying them limply at his sides. He would need to wash up before he could go to sleep. But for that moment he let himself enjoy the heady feeling of his post-orgasm haze. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, the illusion of his fantasy now rapidly fading away. V clung to it as much as he could.

Vergil would have held him, filth and all. Scars all on display. He wouldn’t tell V he was disgusting. If V had a real name, his father would say it - not the horrid pet names Urizen and others had used to dehumanize him. If Vergil were really his lover he would treat V _ lovingly _ .

Something pulled at V’s heart; a warm anxiety. They would begin to “know each other” the next day. A strange opportunity. V felt awash with confusion and anticipation for the future. He prayed that Vergil would enjoy meeting the real V.

And V hoped that he would enjoy meeting himself, too.

***

He hadn’t intended to answer the phone as its shrilling broke the morning calm. It really wasn’t V’s place; it’s not like anyone would be calling for him and even if someone was he certainly wouldn’t want to  _ answer _ . But with Vergil outside and the damn thing continuing to cry in the downstairs hall, V decided to put an end to its misery.

“Hello?” V greeted tersely into the receiver, hoping whoever was on the other end would feel how annoyed he was.

“Oh, hey V…” Nero’s voice came through and V felt measurably more relaxed having it be his brother instead of a true stranger. “Uh, how’s Dad?”

Clearly Nero hadn’t expected to talk to V. It was difficult to tell if the slight anxiety in his voice came from before or after V picked up. Still, it was a bit endearing that Nero still showed open concern for Vergil.

“He’s fine. I believe he’s finishing up the garden. Do you want me to get him?”

“Uh, no that’s okay,” Nero replied briskly. “I just wanted to call ahead and say we’ll be coming to get our stuff later today. Just to give you guys a head’s up.”

“So you’re leaving?” V inquired, feeling a slight disappointment twisting in his chest.

“I mean, yeah? Dante’s all busted up and Dad’s all pissed off. It’s probably better if we just take off and leave him alone.” Nero sounded disappointed too - a sad hook in his tone.

V sighed, then responded: “I think you should stay.”

“What?  _ You _ think we should stay?” Nero laughed incredulously. “We were in the same fight, right?”

“I think you should try, at least.” V huffed, not particularly enjoying Nero’s bemusement. “If you people spent as much time actually talking to each other as you do complaining and avoiding each other you might actually look something close to a family again.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s-”

“You’d at least have your father.” V cut-off Nero’s attempt to obfuscate his point. “And maybe Dante would even have his brother, if he could learn to think before he lets his inane blathering fall out of his mouth.”

Nero went quiet for a long moment. V shook his head. This was an awfully bizarre conversation, he knew. But he really was trying to make the changes he needed. He wanted to do better. Be better. And not just because Vergil would like him to. That required some measure of self-sacrificing, didn’t it?

“All of you are hurting, to some degree,” V tried to keep his tone soft and honest. “And you’re going to continue suffering like this unless you do something productive about it. Even if he can’t accept your relationship with Dante, wouldn’t you at least try to make your case for being his son?”

V hoped that Nero would. Nero was far better qualified to have that designation with their father. V couldn’t, not with the way he felt about Vergil. It would be like asking Nero to strictly only consider Dante as his uncle. Things were too past that line. 

After another tense pause, Nero finally replied: “I guess you’re kinda hurt too, huh?”

Air caught in V’s throat unexpectedly. He really didn’t want Nero to lump him into this, because he felt he was responsible for some measure of the problem.

“If I am that would be my own fault,” V shrugged, finding himself staring down at the antique phone cradle and musing that it was in nicer condition than the one in Dante’s office.

“Hypocrite,” Nero chuckled warmly. “Alright, we’ll uh, we’ll try to talk. Or I’ll try to talk with Dad, at least? I dunno how much good it’ll do and I’d like to keep Dante’s nose on his face.”

V didn’t laugh but he did smile in amusement, and he was sort of disappointed Nero couldn’t see that. “Alright. We’ll see you later then. I’ll let Father know.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks V?” Nero said and then the line clicked and went dead.

Hanging up, V turned to head for the back of the house. He froze, however, when he noticed Vergil standing in the hall merely feet away. His heart throbbed in surprise. The sleeves of Vergil’s shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the strong curve of his arm muscles. There were spots of dirt across his skin. V tried not to think about what it would feel like to squeeze his own hands over those strong arms. A small smirk pulled at his father’s mouth. V knew then he’d probably heard most of his side of the call. 

“That was exceedingly nice of you,” Vergil commented.

V’s first instinct was to be dismissive or angry. He felt like he’d just been caught doing something wrong. Well, honesty and vulnerability had always been negative traits to him before. V tried to ignore that primary impulse. After all, the real him  _ was _ able to care about others, even if it made him weaker.

“Hope you don’t mind that,” V said after settling his initial shock. “It’s not like I can hold you to it, anyway.”

Vergil gave a short nod of approval. “I  _ would _ like to talk to Nero.”

That gladdened V. He’d suspected Vergil’s mood had changed. Perceptions and attitudes were shifting everywhere, it seemed. It was difficult to tell if that grace would extend to Dante, or even result in Vergil’s tolerance. Baby steps first.

“I’d like to talk with you, too,” Vergil continued, walking and motioning at V to follow him.

V obeyed, keeping pace with his cane behind Vergil as they traveled down the hall. They walked into the sitting room. Vergil had spent an effort to make it presentable and the space had yet to be used. It was a little amusing he chose this over the drawing room that he was obviously more fond of. V decided not to point that out. 

There was wood in the fireplace but it wasn’t lit, and Vergil crossed over to ostensibly start it. V took a seat on the large cream-colored sofa on the side closest to the fireplace. He watched his father squat down and begin the lighting process while his eyes followed the curve of Vergil’s spine through his well-fitting shirt and his deep blue slacks. This was probably casual attire for him, even with the leather loafers; it would be overtly fancy to others. V respected his father’s sensibilities.

“I take it this will be a long talk,” V teased gently.

“If that’s alright with you,” Vergil said over his shoulder.

“Of course,” V smiled, “Though it might be one-sided on your part. My style of getting to know others isn’t particularly verbose.”

“How so?” Vergil asked.

_ Really _ , V thought singularly in exasperation.

“I either rob them or we have sex _ , _ ” V said flatly.

And then Vergil laughed. Not half-hearted or concealed but a genuine, bright, even loud sort of laughter. His shoulders bounced up and down from it. The sound alone soaked into V’s chest, spreading a warmth stronger than the fire could ever hope to be. It made V laugh too, from the sheer joy of that feeling.

“Fair enough,” Vergil commented as he stood up and brushed his hands together. “I’ll start the conversation then.”

“That would probably be for the best,” V smiled, this time sure his father could see.

Vergil sat on the other end of the sofa. That he chose there over the other seating options did not go unnoticed. V tried to get comfortable, which was easier than anticipated despite having Vergil sitting so close. 

“We’ll start simple,” Vergil said as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Your name? How did you choose V?”

“I got it from a book,” V replied, then chuckled when it seemed like Vergil was waiting for him to expand on the explanation. “What? You didn’t expect a simple answer to your simple question?”

“Which book?” Vergil pressed on, looking extraordinarily curious. 

Since he was making a concerted effort to be honest, V chose to be more forthcoming over sarcastic: “A collection of poetry. One of the few books  _ he _ let me keep in my pit. It was old. It had very beautiful calligraphy and illuminations, too. The cover had a V-shaped design in the leather. I always liked that silly thing, so…”

He trailed off when he noticed the strange way Vergil stared at him. It was as if V had revealed some horrible secret. Vergil’s expression was troubled.

“The poet was William Blake,” Vergil said and time stood still just enough for V’s heart to skip a beat.

“How did you know?” V asked.

“That book was mine,” Vergil revealed, “I gave it to your mother.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. V’s memories of reading the book flooded into his mind. Those many days as a child laid stretched out on his sleeping bag on the basement floor, reading by flashlight in the dark. Urizen had tossed it down with a few others. Gifts, he’d said, for being a “good boy”. V taught himself to read them, but he’d always favored the Blake book best. It was so intensely beautiful. He’d wondered many times how that man had come to possess such a gorgeous thing. Now V knew Urizen had gotten it the same way he’d gotten most things - taking them and keeping them for himself.

“Oh... I’m sorry…” V whispered.

“Don’t apologize,” Vergil replied sincerely, which only made the ache in V’s heart worsen.

“No, I… That book? It’s gone,” V ran a hand through his own hair tensely, “He burned it.”

As punishment for being “bad,” V recalled. A broken leg and a burned book. Urizen was God in that house - he could give and he could take away. The king and his single tightly reigned-over subject.

“That’s still not your fault,” Vergil noted.

V took in a deep, shaking breath in an attempt to calm himself down. He shook the memories out of his mind. If he thought about it too much he’d relive those pains again. Right then he wanted to be in the present with Vergil, where he knew he was safe.

“Guess that wasn’t as simple a question as I thought,” Vergil commented after a few moments, earning a small laugh from V.

“I don’t think any of them will be,” V sighed and shifted his gaze to the crackling fire.

“I can deal with that, if you can?” Vergil asked.

He didn’t want to, though he knew he could. These things were buried within V for a reason. Too much pain without a solution. He couldn’t change the past. Could he even change what it had done to him? What it turned him into? But that was the whole point of this; to scratch away the layers V hid behind. If there was one person who deserved to peel that back, it was Vergil.

So V nodded and tried to force himself to relax. This was going to be a long conversation indeed. Would it be worth it?


	15. Nero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [Lady_Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_lavender) for the editing/beta!

Even though Nero got prescription pain meds from the clinic, it still hurt like a bitch to walk, sit, or lay down. Basically doing anything - or even not doing anything - made his tailbone throb tremendously. He tried not to complain about it, but the change in his gait was clear. Dante wouldn’t stop fussing over him. It was embarrassing but he also liked it, just a little.

Getting out of the truck in front of the house wasn’t any different. Dante sputtered at him to “just hang on a minute” even though Nero was hanging halfway out of the door already. Nero dropped himself down onto his feet heavily, and the landing sent a shocking pain up his spine that made him wince. Dante clambered out of his side and hustled over. An equal amount of aggravation and concern played over his uncle’s expression. 

“What? I’m fine,” Nero shrugged, taking a step forward and then immediately wincing when the pain rocketed out from his coccyx again. “Okay, not fine.”

Dante sighed and hooked his arm (the one not in a sling) around Nero’s to help hold him up. “Just let me baby you for once.”

“I’m not a baby,” Nero huffed but he accepted Dante’s help.

After shutting the driver’s door, they walked up to the front of the house. Truthfully, they were both in bad shape still, and Nero probably didn’t have any business driving all the way home. Dante probably  _ could _ but Nero would prefer to let him rest and heal up. Part of Nero hoped he could get Vergil to let them stay, for the sake of having them get home in whole pieces. He lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

“Why are you knocking? This is your house.” Dante said, amused. “You still got a key, right?”

“I dunno. It just doesn’t feel right to just let myself in after all this shit?” Nero replied. “‘Sides it’s kinda your house, too, and I don’t see you walking in unannounced.”

“Yeah but I know for a fact I’m not welcome here,” Dante mentioned.

“I’m probably not either, y’know,” Nero rolled his eyes.

The door opened, not making the usual alarm beeps the doors usually did. It was Vergil. He looked between the two of them for a moment, his expression as unreadable as usual.

“Why are you knocking?” Vergil asked Nero. “Did you lose your key?”

“Told you,” Dante mumbled teasingly, elbowing Nero’s side with the arm he’d been using to hold Nero up.

“Ugh,” Nero grunted and untangled his arm from Dante’s after some resistance on his uncle’s part. “I was just showing some respect, alright?”

Vergil honestly seemed a little confused by that logic, but then he stepped aside to let them in. Nero went first. Trying to hold back his wincing, he ended hissing to himself and stepping gingerly past his father. Obviously concerned, Vergil gripped Nero’s elbow and Nero let himself lean against his father. Nero felt embarrassed for needing so much help, even though the doctor had told him he’d be hurting and needed rest. 

“Is it bad?” Vergil asked in an apologetic tone.

Nero shook his head. Then Dante came up on his other side and linked their arms together again. Now his father and uncle were supporting him on both sides and Nero felt even more disconcerted.

“It’s pretty bad,” Dante answered Vergil simply as they helped walk Nero towards the sitting room.

“It’s not,” Nero sighed, though internally the help did keep him from misstepping and jarring the deep, swollen bruise. “I’ll be  _ fine _ . Dante’s the one with the broken nose.”

Vergil glanced across Nero at Dante, who just gave a lopsided sort of smile that looked extra goofy with the bandage across his nose. Nero could see his father’s eyes flinch a little; another wordless apology. If he could start saying how he felt out loud then maybe things would get better. But that could be said for all of them.

Inside the sitting room, V was laying across the sofa and taking up about two-thirds of it. When he saw the three of them enter, he sat up a little more. He was wearing Nero’s familiar school tracksuit. Nero decided not to complain about it. After all, if he liked that thing he would have taken it with him. It was probably comfortable on him, baggy as it was. 

“Should I let you borrow my cane, brother?” V teased but it didn’t sound hostile. 

“I didn’t need this treatment, y’know,” Nero sighed as Vergil and Dante both helped lower him onto one of the living chairs by the fireplace.

“If that were true you would’ve refused more,” Vergil responded as he headed over to take a seat on the sofa at the end opposite of V.

“He’s got a point,” Dante joked then stepped away.

Great, Dante and Vergil were actually working together on something and it was to put a dent in Nero’s ego. The chair felt nice, though. There was enough support and tilt to the cushion to take the pressure off his lower back. Nero settled back a little more and let out a relieved sigh. Maybe the slight mortification was worth it for this release.

Looking over at Dante, he noticed his uncle was heading for the arched exit. Nero’s heart sunk a little. Right, he was going to do the talking with Vergil. The plan was for Dante to get their stuff packed, in anticipation of a hasty retreat. 

“Dante?” V called out, drawing everyone’s surprised scrutiny. “Why don’t you stay in here with us?”

Nero’s attention snapped to his father, looking for his reaction. Vergil was giving V an almost quizzical look - but he didn’t seem angered. V glanced to Vergil and shrugged, then smiled amicably, to which Vergil’s expression softened and his shoulders relaxed measurably. Nero felt awed by that wordless interaction. At once he realized he hadn’t understood the full nature of his father’s and brother’s relationship with one another at all.

Dante stood still, looking from V to Vergil. When Vergil didn’t immediately decline the invite, Dante looked to Nero instead. He looked like a confused puppy, made even more miserable by the thick bandage over his face and his arm being in a sling. Nero tried to smile comfortingly and motioned at the other living chair sitting a couple of feet from his own.

“It’s warmer in here, at least?” Nero said.

Glancing once more in Vergil’s direction and receiving no refusal, Dante cautiously walked to the chair and sat down. Clearly he hadn’t expected this. Nero hadn’t either, but he felt grateful to V for his weirdly kind gesture. Things really were changing, weren’t they?

“I think if we’re getting into the business of speaking our minds then all minds ought to be present,” V spoke once everyone seemed settled. 

“Why do you talk like that?” Dante said suddenly, then his eyes widened as if he realized it hadn’t come out in a way he’d intended. “No offense or anything, honest! It’s just, you talk weird? Right?”

Everyone stared at Dante for a moment. Nero felt the urge to reach over and sock him. He took pity on his uncle’s uncouthness instead.

“Well, you did say we should speak our minds…” Nero added with an apologetic grimace toward V.

V snorted, then laughed. He shook his head, still laughing. Surprised, Nero looked to Vergil as well. His father wasn’t laughing, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Vergil’s attention was on V then, not Dante.

“I suppose I did,” V finally replied. “As you know, I didn’t have an average childhood. Everything I learned came from books or Urizen’s occasional influence. He mostly provided me with poetry and I had little contact with outside influences until I was of a more... useful age. And so that’s why I  _ talk weird _ .”

“That kinda makes sense, yeah,” Dante replied rather somberly.

Nero felt a little saddened too. There were always hidden implications between V’s words when he talked about Urizen. Nero wasn’t sure he wanted those spelled out for him. He wondered if V told their father more about himself, judging by the troubled yet unsurprised expression on Vergil’s features.

“I mean, Dad talks kinda weird, too,” Nero said jovially, trying to perk up the mood. “But I think that’s just ‘cause he’s a fancy-pants sorta guy.”

V laughed again, this time into the palm of his hand. “I believe the word you’re looking for is  _ pretentious _ .”

“Yeah that’s it!” Nero beamed.

It was wild.  _ Absolutely fucking wild. _ Nero couldn’t believe he was sitting there having a somewhat normal conversation with his family. V was actually sort of working with him on that. And Vergil was allowing both him and Dante to sit there and converse - even lightly joke at his expense - without brooding or outright fighting with them. Nero felt like he was in some other dimension where it was perfectly fine for him to have his uncle as his lover and still keep his family together. So, of course, reality had to knock him down a few pegs.

“I’ll take my turn, then, to speak my mind,” Vergil interjected calmly but seriously. “About your relationship…”

Vergil’s gaze shifted to Nero, which made him tense. He’d known they would have to discuss this at some point if he did want to do as V suggested and try to stay on okay terms with his dad. He didn’t expect to have Dante at all present for that. It made him feel more uneasy, especially when Vergil looked to Dante. 

“Is this the part where you ask what my intentions are with your son or something?” Dante tried to joke and Nero hid his face in his hands.

“Please shut up,” Nero grumbled into his palms.

“That’s not too far off the mark, actually,” Vergil replied.

Nero peeked out from under his hands. Vergil and Dante were staring at each other. Tension hung in the air, but it was different from the way it had been before. Nero got the sense that they both actually wanted to talk about this, but weren’t matching on the way to do so. He’d take the brothers begrudgingly getting along - probably for his sake - over the alternative of beating the shit out of each other any day. 

“I’ve been able to consider that I made some wrong conclusions about how you two ended up in this situation,” Vergil said steadily.

“Yeah, well... “ Dante sighed and sagged back in his seat, still looking at his brother. “It’s not like I really gave you any reason to  _ not  _ jump to conclusions.”

“No, you did not. And I won’t say that I’m not without suspicions still,” Vergil responded, then directed his attention to Nero. “How are you so sure that you’re in love with him?”

“Oh Jesus, Dad…” Nero felt a white-hot embarrassment roll over his skin and he hid his face again.

There was never going to be a good time for this sort of talk. Even if he and Dante weren’t related, Nero felt getting this sort of grilling from his father would always be awkward. But this was a thing normal dads did, right? That’s how it was in the movies anyway. Somehow Nero had become the protagonist of a particularly incest-heavy romantic comedy. 

When he realized everyone was waiting for an answer, Nero let his hands slide away from his face. The spotlight was on him. Now he had to try and summarize all the feelings he had for Dante in a way that his father would  _ hopefully _ understand. Part of him wanted to look to Dante for guidance, but he fought that urge knowing he’d probably lose his nerve if he did. So he stared back at Vergil and took a deep breath. 

“I mean… It’s just something that I  _ know _ . When I’m with him I just get this feeling of being whole. Like I didn’t know I was missing something until I met him and got to know him? Then suddenly there was this empty part that he fit into… God I suck at this…”

Nero had to laugh. It was so difficult to put into words how he felt about Dante. Having everyone’s eyes on him didn’t help. He desperately wanted to say something perfect in that moment. How was he supposed to distill his multitude of emotions like that?

“You ever feel like you’re homesick?” Nero asked but he didn’t wait for Vergil to reply. “‘Cause I did for a really long time. No matter where I went I felt like that. And even when I came here I didn’t really feel at home. And that’s not your fault, Dad, please don’t think it is. I know you were trying and I know I wasn’t the best at letting you try but…”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. His heart was starting to race as his brain reeled, searching for the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. Nero felt like his feelings were getting all stirred up, like silt at the bottom of a murky pond.

“Dante made me realize I wasn’t homesick for a place, but a person, I guess?” Nero gave his father a conciliatory half-smile, knowing that his own words implied his father’s care hadn’t been enough; a hard truth. “It’s not like I knew that’s what I needed or anything. Falling in love with him just sorta… happened. And he really did try to make me stop, you know.”

“What can I say?” Dante added after a soft huff of a laugh, “Kid’s bad at listening to his elders. Doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

Nero snorted, glancing to Dante. “You  _ are _ good for me. No matter what you or anyone else says.”

He knew that was a challenge to Vergil. Risky, but Nero was tired of having others decide these matters for him. Ideally he’d make his point and have it accepted. Even if things didn’t work out that way at least he would finally get to say how he truly felt. 

“It’s not like Dante’s replacing you in my life, Dad,” Nero addressed his father again. “I still wanna be your son, if you still wanna be my father?”

The question hung in the air. Nero was aware that this was a reversal of an offer Vergil had made him before. But now the conditions had changed. It wasn’t just about Nero’s willingness to be part of Vergil’s life. Now it was about Vergil’s willingness to be part of Nero’s while Nero had Dante as such an unusually intimate part of his. Nero wasn’t stupid enough to try and force the brothers to reconcile, but settling these unhinged parts of his family would require some tolerance.

Thinking more on that, Nero glanced toward V. His brother had remained quiet for this whole interaction. Looking now, Nero could see that V’s attention was wholly on Vergil. Vergil didn’t seem to notice V’s staring. That or he was blatantly ignoring him in favor of leaning forward and looking down at his feet. But V was so focused on Vergil, like he was clinging on for the reply.

It was weird knowing V was making such unselfish strides. Days ago Nero thought V would be the biggest obstacle in this whole mess. He was sure his brother would always be up to some sort of connivance. Now he looked so openly vulnerable, and he really seemed like he was making honest efforts to actually help. If that was an act then it was a damn fine one. 

Earlier at the hotel, Dante had explained the conversation he and V had in the library. Nero understood more how things turned out the way they did. V’s attraction toward Vergil was out in the open now. But Vergil’s feelings on that weren’t clear. He couldn’t have been totally repulsed by it, though, considering V was still there and they still seemed to be getting along. Dante thought it was because Vergil was ignoring that side of V for the sake of being a good dad. Possible, but Nero couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than that.

Any further speculation, however, was severed when Vergil finally spoke up. “That was never in question, Nero. I apologize if I made it seem like it was.”

Nero let out a sigh of relief. Across from him, V sighed too. There was a soft smile on his brother’s face. Nero looked back at Vergil.

“So… What’s that mean for us? Me and Dante?” Nero probed gently, knowing this was a tough situation for all of them to be in.

Vergil looked to his brother again. Dante wore his uncertainty openly - he always expected the worst. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He was a good balance to Nero’s idealism; another factor Nero wished he’d expressed more clearly to his father.

“I’m still unsure, to be honest,” Vergil closed his eyes and his brow pinched a little. “But I’m willing to compromise, tentatively. I can admit my perspective has changed on some things.”

“But it’s gonna take time, right?” Nero said encouragingly. “I think that’s okay. We all need time to sort this shit out.”

“And it’s better to sort it out together,” V added, talking to them all but still remaining focused on Vergil. “Instead of hiding behind each other’s backs. And yes, I’m aware that’s a hypocrisy coming from me.”

Both Dante and Nero chuckled a little. A smile flitted across Vergil’s mouth, too, and he looked to V. Nero watched the moment the two shared and felt a swirl of recognition. Vergil held a fondness toward V that Nero realized was exclusively  _ for _ V. He wasn’t sure of the context, only that he’d never seen his father look that strangely contented. Like somehow V brought him a special sort of joy neither Dante nor Nero could.

Oh…

_ Oh. _

Nero thought he shouldn’t point it out. Then he thought he  _ should _ , because V had just made a point. Things were unsure on either side where relationships laid, outside the fact that Dante and Nero had every intention of staying romantically involved. Nero had just stabilized that front. There were so many left open, though. 

“So…” Nero swallowed heavily, turning his attention back to Vergil. “Since we’re doing this whole  _ sharing our feelings _ thing… What about you, Dad?”

Vergil met Nero’s stare. “What do you want to know?”

Nero felt like he was loading a gun. This could go great or it could end up terrible. But he wanted to know, and he felt like it was only fair to address it honestly. Time to give it a shot, Nero thought nervously.

“How do you  _ really  _ feel about V?”


	16. Vergil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Lady_Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_lavender) for the beta/editing help~

Vergil understood instantly that Nero already knew he loved V. The question wouldn’t have come up if there wasn’t at least a suspicion. Nero wouldn’t have phrased it that way if it were something innocuous. He knew that Vergil’s real feelings were being obscured. Either Nero was more observant than Vergil gave him credit for, or Vergil was worse at hiding it than he thought. This day was full of revelations.

The question was also open-ended. Nero had made it vague enough for Vergil to lie, if he wanted to. But  _ did _ he want to? V must have understood that Vergil’s feelings were shifting divergently from his role as a father.

Glancing over, Vergil was surprised to see a fearful sort of doubt in his eyes. V’s expression was tempestuous - wavering and confused, lost and searching. Vergil felt his heart thud in his chest. He hadn’t really told V much of anything when it came to how he felt. He’d let his actions speak, but apparently not enough. 

How did he really feel? That question deserved to be reexamined. Moreover, it conjured up another, more pressing question: How could he describe how he felt in a way that would erase V’s doubts? Vergil realized, with belated clarity, he’d basically asked Nero to do the same thing. No wonder Nero struggled to put his words together - trying to condense an emotion this intricate and intense was a dizzying labor.

Maybe it was best to start simple.

“I love you.” Vergil told V.

V’s breath shook. Vergil felt his own catch, too, just from the sight of V’s surprise. V’s eyes searched and his teeth gritted. The confusion hadn’t dissipated, only swirled into something more specifically desperate.

“In  _ what way _ do you love me?” V asked sharply.

_ Is it because I’m your son? Or because I look like my mother? _

Vergil should have told him, instead of touching or speaking in codes. He should have told V from the start when his affection started to change. V had been manipulated his entire life by people who played with his mind and body. Vergil hadn’t helped that by being unwilling to just tell V how he felt and what he wanted to do.

“Not as your father,” Vergil replied sincerely, wholly focusing on V and not caring that Nero and Dante were bearing witness to this. “And not because you resemble your mother. I’m in love with  _ you _ , V. Outrageously so.”

The turmoil in V’s eyes only shifted again. This time he appeared to be on the edge of tears. They didn’t come just yet, but the struggle of maintaining his control must have been painful. Vergil could see it in the way V’s shoulders tensed and his hands curled into fists in his lap. It must have been obvious to Nero, too, because he suddenly tried to stand up.

“Uh, we should probably give you guys a min-”

“Sit down,” Vergil commanded.

At the same time V said: “You’re hurt.”

They both shot Nero sidelong glares. He took the massive hint and sat back in his chair. The last thing Vergil wanted to worry about was his other son hurting himself in a bid to play the conscientious brother, even though it was a well-meaning kindness. The point he made was a good one; it was a deeply intimate conversation that deserved some privacy.

“We’ll talk in the library,” Vergil addressed V, turning to look at him again. “If you’d like to?”

A pause, but then V nodded and started to climb off of the sofa. Vergil rose too. His heartbeat still fluttered frantically in his chest and he was certain that sensation wouldn’t end soon. He glanced over to Dante, who had remained abjectly silent. Dante lifted his eyes to meet his brother’s and he smiled lightly. Vergil sensed some sympathy in that expression. What he didn’t find were any hints of jealousy or anger. In fact, there might have been a hint of hope there. Encouragement.

Leaving the sitting room, Vergil crossed the foyer over to the library. V followed behind him, the steady click of his cane echoing against the smooth wooden floor. Not for the first time, Vergil wondered if there could be a way to fix V’s wrongly-healed bones so he could walk normally again. He’d like to try, if V would ever want to deal with the necessary doctors to make that happen.

The library was cold as usual. If he knew he’d find himself in this situation, Vergil would have lit a fire in the fireplace, and he chastised himself inwardly for not grabbing some wood and supplies on his way out of the sitting room. His mind was preoccupied with more important things at the time. 

Once they were both inside, Vergil shut the door behind him. He locked it, too, though he didn’t really think Nero or Dante would be rude enough to spy on them. Even if they did, that wouldn’t really be a problem - This wasn’t about hiding anything from them; it was about giving himself and V a chance to sort out a personal matter without the added anxiety of being actively watched.

When he turned back to V, he noticed a distance in his gaze as he looked around the library. V meandered, glancing around but not focusing on anything. It wasn’t the first time Vergil thought his son looked lost. He wanted to reach out to him to bring him back, so he softly tapped his fingers on V’s shoulder. All at once V’s attention focused on him, his dark eyes an open ocean churning through a storm.

“Last time I was here Dante said I would end up hurting you,” V spoke gloomily. “He said I would make your suffering worse.” 

“You haven’t,” Vergil responded resolutely.

He tried to pull his hand back from V’s shoulder but V grabbed it. He curled his thin fingers sideways around Vergil’s. Staying still, Vergil watched as V held his hand and used his other fingers to softly brush over the still-healing abrasions there. 

“I told you so much, today and before…” V sounded wistful. “The things that I did. And what was done to me.”

After learning the history behind V’s name, Vergil had pressed more and more for details about V’s life. The desire to know more felt like a craving. He ate up every morsel of information V could give, no matter how grotesque. 

He already knew V was a criminal. He also knew V had used his body as an asset in his crimes. What disgusted Vergil more were the details about V’s earlier life - how he came to possess those so-called “skills.” That Urizen had raised him specifically to be used in those abhorrent ways, by himself and then others. Before coming here, V had never once known an ounce of love, in any form.

“Do you want to know the worst part of my story with Urizen?” V spoke as he looked from Vergil’s hand to his eyes. “I didn’t always hate him. Sometimes I even  _ enjoyed _ it.”

V smiled - brokenly, miserably - and Vergil felt his insides sink. It was like V expected him to find that detail revolting; he did, but not for the reasons V probably thought he should. Vergil ached to hold V again. It took all his effort to speak instead, knowing this was a time to let his words make his thoughts and intentions clear.

“You were a prisoner for so long,” Vergil replied and he flexed his fingers around V’s. “You had to depend on him for everything, even happiness.”

“And now I can depend on  _ you _ to make me happy?” V asked.

Vergil shook his head. “You can find that on your own. I can just hope to be a part of it, I suppose.”

“You’re more sentimental than people give you credit for.” V chuckled warmly and the tense air around them dissolved a little.

“To be fair, nobody else has seen me like this before. This is only for you to see.” Vergil admitted, knowing that he was probably the only one to see V the way he did as well. “That won’t change, no matter how terrible you think you are.”

Slow and careful, Vergil lifted their joined hands. Readjusting their grip as he moved, he pressed V’s palm against his chest. He held it there with just the barest hint of pressure, so V could pull away if he wanted to. Vergil hoped the gesture would be meaningful enough, even if V couldn’t feel how his heart thrummed so heavily.

“You’re already a part of my happiness,” Vergil said clear and firm.

“Oh…” V responded quietly and his eyes stared at their hands.

Vergil ached more. There was no way he could make all of V’s pains disappear in a matter of hours or even days. This would be an ongoing fight to scrape away all of the abusive detritus left clinging inside of V’s mind. All Vergil could be sure of in that moment was that he loved V in such a unique way, and that V had said he was in love with him as well. If that’s what made them strong enough to fight their personal demons together, then that was all that mattered. 

“I’ve learned so much about you,” Vergil spoke up after a few moments passed. “And I have so much more to learn. And you do, too, about yourself and me…”

V tilted his head up to look at him. His features were softer, more curious than confused or sad. For a second Vergil found himself glancing at the healing cut on V’s lip. He still felt the urge to touch and soothe it, as strongly as he had the previous night. But Vergil met V’s eyes instead, leaning just a little closer while still holding V’s hand to his chest. 

“You said you wanted to kiss me,” Vergil continued, “Once I knew the real you better.”

V let off a small, breathy laugh. “I remember. It was just last night after all.”

Vergil laughed too, just as he pressed his forehead against V’s. His own breathing started to feel heavier. He closed his eyes to try and concentrate on steadying it even though part of him knew that would be impossible. 

“I understand it’s soon but…” Vergil squeezed at V’s hand gently. “Do you think I’ve learned enough for just one?”

“ _ Yes _ .” V’s answer rushed warmly against Vergil’s mouth, and that was enough.

Vergil kissed V firmly, tilting his head to press more into it. He could hear V’s sharp intake of air through his nose. On his cheek he felt V’s free hand, a gentle touch that avoided the sore bruise there. V’s palm fit over his jaw and slid along until those slender fingers rested just under his ear. Vergil felt a white hot pulse crash through his chest and it rippled out from their hands were joined. V pushed tighter against him and Vergil used his free arm to hold him close. 

It could have lasted for hours from the way time felt like it had stopped. When Vergil finally broke the kiss he kept V held close. V immediately kissed at him again. And again. Enough times that it made Vergil have to laugh from the eagerness of V’s kisses alone.

“I said  _ one _ ,” Vergil spoke nearly against V’s mouth.

“I feel like you earned more,” V replied, stealing another and Vergil could feel him melt when it was returned. “Maybe I just want more.”

Vergil wanted more, too. But he also knew it was a bad time to get carried away. They had more to work out - years upon years to analyse and discuss and probably cry about. Plus Nero and Dante were still waiting in the other room. Time was on their side now, and Vergil wasn’t going to squander that. So when V tried to kiss him again, Vergil tilted his head up and pressed his lips to V’s forehead instead. 

“Later,” He said, still close enough for his lips to brush over V’s skin. “I promise.”

V gave an endearingly petulant huff. His bratty side apparently wasn’t all for show; Vergil smirked and filed that observation away for later exchanges. 

“I promise, trust me,” Vergil reiterated as he loosened his hold on V enough to pull back and look him in the eyes.

V still looked a little disappointed, but then he smiled. He kept his hand within Vergil’s grip as he pulled it away from Vergil’s chest. Then V kissed it, right over one of the scrapes.

“Of course I trust you,” V said, looking at him so happily Vergil didn’t want that rare moment to end.

And Vergil decided right then that he would fight like hell to make sure V’s moments of joy would no longer be a rarity at all. 


	17. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience in waiting for me to get back to this. I had a family emergency come up and y'all have been just so wonderfully kind.
> 
> Special thank you to [Lady_Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_lavender) for not only beta/editing this but also helping me to keep my sanity over the last few weeks!

Dressed in a bundle of borrowed clothing,V walked along the paths where gardens used to grow under a cloudy, dark, and starless sky. The breeze was decidedly wintry, just on the edge of frigid - colder than when he’d arrived barely a manner of weeks previous. But he liked it now, finding it refreshing. It was something to chill the heat that rolled inside him ever since he and Vergil kissed hours ago.

If V had his way, Vergil would have taken him there in the library. Or, for the sake of propriety, whisked him away to a bedroom and left Nero and Dante to entertain themselves as they did _so well_. As things often were, V didn’t get his way. It was fun, though, to see how the other duo tried to inanely guide conversation from anything that implied the very real possibility sex had happened or certainly _was_ _on the horizon_ for V and Vergil. 

Despite that, the rest of the evening had been… pleasant. They conversed and then ate dinner together - as a family - with V and Nero helping Vergil in the kitchen and Dante being wrangled into at least helping cut vegetables and set the table. V had to credit Nero for the adept way he handled the man, in equal parts patience and insistence with a dash of sarcasm. He played the part of a beleaguered boyfriend well.

V spent most of the time lost in thought. It was probably a mood that was easily picked up by the others, if they bothered to notice. If they did, they didn’t point it out. He was thankful for that. Wearing his feelings openly was a new experience and outward vulnerability made his skin still crawl. Which was why he decided to go for a walk outside after dinner when his thoughts turned more dour. 

He treasured the reassurance Vergil gave him. Their love and affection was as balanced as it could be, given their circumstances. It was as wonderful as it was terrifying. And it was the terror that weighed most on V thoughts at the moment.

This newly-opened door only made the things V was trying to escape from more acutely present in his mind. Vergil offered him so many things, now. A cluster of wonders that represented something V hadn’t particularly put much faith into before: a future, which made the threat of his past more pronounced. 

Could he really hope to enjoy the promise of “later” when he was suddenly so worried about “now” and “then”?

“Cold out here,” Dante’s voice made V flinch.

Wary, V turned toward his uncle. V had figured that someone would probably come after him. He just preferred it be Vergil or even Nero. The last time he and Dante were alone ended in tears and anger. 

“I’m aware, thank you.” V replied dismissively and turned back to stare at the overgrown open field where he imagined a more manicured landscape used to be.

Behind him, Dante chuckled. V heard him step closer, but he stopped when he was standing next to V on the gravel path. V listened to him shuffle his coat around, pulling it tighter and shoving his hands into his pockets. Dante clearly wanted to talk, and he was blatantly ignoring V’s signals to the contrary.

“I thought you’d be thrilled after, y’know, getting Vergil to confess to you and all.” Dante spoke lightly.

“I  _ am _ ,” V responded with a snort. “Are you jealous?”

“Nah,” He could peripherally see Dante shaking his head. “See I kinda got this thing for  _ your _ brother, now. But I’m glad for you. The both of you. I was… Well, I  _ think _ I was wrong.”

“You only  _ think _ so?” V scoffed at him.

“Yeah, well…” Dante shrugged. “Vergil seems a helluva lot more relaxed at least. You though? You’re still pretty mopey for a guy that just got everything he wanted.”

A flame of anger flickered in V’s stomach. Dante didn’t understand anything about him. V didn’t necessarily need him to, either. He turned to say something to that effect, but Dante cut him off.

“Which tells me you don’t actually have what you want at all,” Dante said, looking V in the eye. “Or maybe what you want has changed?”

“That doesn’t concern you, Dante.” V sighed in annoyance.

“But you know that it does, really.” Dante dug in more, smirking. “Like it or not, we’re family. Sure, you and me are the weakest link in this here chain in terms of actually getting along but… Well, I figure maybe it’ll be easier for you to get something off your chest with the one you care about least. Less risk involved.”

He had a point there, V conceded in his mind. V certainly didn’t want to worry Vergil with his melancholic drivel. Getting along with Nero was necessary to keep Vergil happy, but V could also admit he was on the edge of enjoying the company of his brother. Dante? Could V really say he cared about their tolerance of each other as much?

“After all,” Dante continued when V’s response wasn’t forthcoming. “It’s my fault, right? In the end, I’m responsible for what happened to all of you. Least I can do is try to be a shoulder to lean on. That’s what uncles are for, right?”

V laughed once, at that. “I’m not  _ particularly _ interested in getting  _ your _ brand of avuncular attention.”

“Nero’s my lover, first and foremost,” Dante explained with a wave of his hand through the air as if the gesture helped make things more clear. “You’re not. You’re my nephew and  _ only _ that. But if it bothers you then think of me as, I dunno, a friend? An acquaintance? Friendly neighborhood detective?”

“You’re really keen to learn all my secret troubles, aren’t you?” V sighed, withering.

Dante was trying to be kind, V understood that. He didn’t think there was any ill intent behind this prodding. V had learned during his own stalking that Dante was generally a warm-hearted person, even if he tried to come off as aloof sometimes. But V didn’t need the advice of an uncle or a friend even if he were willing to reach out like that. A detective, however…

“Well,” Dante shrugged again, then turned to leave. “If you ever change your mind.”

V considered just letting Dante go, so he could get back to thinking unabated. Thinking alone hadn’t really provided anything more than additional worries, though. Rolling his gaze up to the dark grey waves of clouds overhead, V let out a long, slow breath.

“Dante,” He said and he heard Dante’s footsteps halt in the gravel. “I  _ could _ use the advice of a police officer.”

***

That Vergil was lingering near the back service door of the dining room wasn’t a surprise. When V and Dante returned, Vergil greeted them with momentary scrutiny, obviously looking to see signs of an argument. Nero was also close by, but V got the feeling that his brother had been the one keeping Vergil from interrupting. 

“See? It’s fine,” Nero said with a smile, affirming V’s suspicion. 

Then Nero went to Dante’s side, mentioning that he was tired and wanted to get ready for bed. There was an express implication there; he wanted Dante to go with him. Well, it would be a little odd to expect them to stay in separate rooms  _ now _ . Still, Dante gave a glance around like he wasn’t sure that they should be that obvious.  _ Ridiculous _ .

V turned his attention to Vergil. His father wasn’t paying attention to Dante and Nero anyway, his focus being firmly on V. That made V feel a ticklish sort of warmth under his skin. Even with others in the room he felt like the center of Vergil’s attention. 

“I’d like to talk in private again,” V told his father.

There wasn’t really a double meaning there. V had something important to discuss, now that he’d gotten some actually helpful advice from Dante. If anyone took his words as innuendo that wasn’t  _ his _ fault.

Vergil simply nodded and let V lead the way. Nero and Dante waited behind, almost certainly so they could snoop and see where they would go. Gossipy pair. Well, V would have spied too, if their roles were reversed. He’d thought to take Vergil to the drawing room, but now he'd changed his mind and led the way to his own bedroom instead; hang a few grapes from the vine. Besides, V still wanted to get more physically intimate, if Vergil did too. 

And Vergil  _ did _ . Once they were safely behind the closed door of V’s room, V found himself being drawn into Vergil’s arms and pressed to his chest. Vergil’s face went to the nape of his neck. He shivered at the tickle of Vergil’s breath and the warmth of his hand against his own palm. V couldn’t stop the honest smile that pulled across his mouth.

“I really do want to talk, you know.” V insisted even as he leaned into Vergil.

“So talk,” Vergil’s reply was muffled against V’s neck.

V laughed. As in control as Vergil wanted to be, it seemed he was just as starved for affection as anyone else. It made V feel a little guilty to pull away, but he wanted this conversation to be serious. It  _ was _ serious. When Vergil realized that intent, he pulled back too. The grave look that crossed his face hurt. 

V made sure to keep their hands linked between them. It was difficult to look Vergil in the eyes. All the words he thought he could say straight suddenly bubbled at the back of his throat, catching on his anxiety. Even now there was time to lie. To back down and hide away. V looked at their hands and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to turn myself in,” V told the truth and it hung just as heavy in the air as he thought it would.

After a few tense seconds, Vergil replied: “Is that what you were talking about with Dante?”

“Yes,” V nodded, feeling his words hooking into the back of his tongue, each one needing to be forced out. “I wanted to know what I’d be facing when I do.”

Vergil pulled at him and V let himself be led. He didn’t look up out of fear he’d lose his resolve. He hit the edge of his bed and Vergil encouraged him to sit down. Once he had, V tugged at Vergil’s hand to get him to sit too.

“So, what will happen?” Vergil asked once they were both settled.

“They’ll arrest me, obviously. I’ll go to prison.” V shrugged. “Dante said my case would have mitigating factors, but it doesn’t change the core of what I did. And the fact that I ran. Theft. Arson. Murder, or at least manslaughter. I could get a sympathetic judge. I could  _ not _ .”

“You  _ could _ be locked up for a long time,” Vergil said thoughtfully, the edge to his tone palpable. 

“Years, probably, at the least.” V agreed, that was as much as Dante had indicated to him too. 

“That’s something you’re willing to do?” 

V slumped a bit more. Of course he was willing, but it certainly wasn’t something he was looking forward to. It was necessary; something he had to do if he wanted to preserve what he had. To let it flourish, even.

Feeling Vergil’s hand slip away sent V’s heart plummeting. But then his father wrapped that arm around his back, encouraging V to lean against him, and that shot of panic quelled. V rested against Vergil’s side and shut his eyes. He had more to say, but he let himself enjoy a few moments of stillness. Vergil didn’t rush him, probably also processing this new turn. V had worried minutely if Vergil wouldn’t take this decision well. Now he understood that fear wasn’t warranted - Vergil seemed entirely concerned with trying to understand and support the situation at hand.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. How I have to find ways to make myself happy?” V finally spoke up again. “I don’t think I can do that if I’m always running away from my problems, or looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t really be happy if I’m always worried about getting you caught up in the trouble I’ve caused.”

“I think I volunteered myself to get involved with your troubles,” Vergil admitted with a soft chuckle.

“Even so,” V continued with a weak smile. “I don’t want our future together to be jeopardized by my past. We’re already in a  _ peculiar _ position, don’t you think?”

V finally looked to Vergil’s face again, just in time to see him nod. Then Vergil looked to V, too. Locking their gaze, V bent forward until his forehead bumped against Vergil’s. His father, but first and foremost his lover? Maybe Dante had that distinction right. 

“It’s encouraging to hear you talk about the future,” Vergil whispered and V could feel his warm breath on his mouth. “You’re not such a fatalist anymore.”

“I have good reason to hope, now,” V teased lightly. “Even if it takes years to right my wrongs.”

“I’m no stranger to waiting, at least.” Vergil laughed again, stronger this time. “When will you go?”

“When Dante and Nero leave, around a week and a half from now? Dante said it would look better if he brought me in. They might be more  _ kind _ to me, or something to that effect.”

“I’ll go too.”

V hoped that Vergil would, and it warmed him that he offered without V having to ask. He was dedicated now. Committed to seeing through his punishment no matter how lengthy or dire it might become. The weight of the goal ahead made his shoulders ache and his breath come in sighs. The tension coiling inside V was likely very obvious to Vergil.

“Is there anything you need from me until then?” Vergil asked softly.

That was an innocuous question but V still chose to think of suggestive things. If he was going away for a long time then he wanted to savor every moment he had with Vergil. Especially those moments alone where they could be free to do as they  _ pleased _ .

“Kiss me.” V demanded already tilting his head to move in. 

Vergil laughed, though he didn’t sound surprised, and he met V’s mouth with his own. Warmth trickled through V’s body, just as it had before. It wrapped over all his aches and pains; that joyful buzz that erupted whenever Vergil touched him. V didn’t want to wait anymore. Slowly, he turned his body and slid around to climb onto Vergil’s lap. His cane, which had been propped against the bed, slid and clattered to the floor.

Feeling Vergil’s hands come to rest on his hips, V pressed his own to Vergil’s shoulders. He pushed, trying to get his father to lay back. Their kisses were fervent and deep, but V wanted more. He wanted to make good memories to cling to while he was gone. Vergil did lay down on his back and V followed him down, pressing their bodies together tight. He squeezed his legs at Vergil’s hips and rocked against him. Then V sat up and settled back on Vergil’s lap, looking down at his father with lustful intent as he started peeling off his own clothes.

“Just one and a half weeks?” Vergil asked, sliding a hand up V’s taut stomach as it was revealed. 

“Mhm,” V bit his lip and nodded, trying to fight the shiver that crawled through him just from that touch.

“Well, then I guess we should make it count.” Vergil replied and he easily rolled V over onto his back.

With Vergil now pinning  _ him _ down, V felt himself go hotter and his heartbeat fluttered out of control. Vergil’s mouth was at his bare neck, leaving bites while one hand slipped between them to V’s pants. V let his legs fall apart to make it easier for Vergil to strip him the rest of the way down. He also pulled at Vergil’s clothes with more desperation, eagerly wanting to feel more of his father’s skin.

Everything felt slow, almost syrupy and warm. V had his legs around Vergil’s waist the moment they were both naked, rocking up against him and trying to bring their bodies closer together by the second. Vergil had no experience with men - he hardly had experience with  _ anyone _ . But that was okay, because V had more than enough knowledge. And yes, that was gleaned in unpleasant ways, but oh there was some benefit to it if it helped him make Vergil feel good. 

Vergil made V feel  _ amazing _ . He was so cautious. Almost laughably gentle. But V couldn’t laugh when he was being made to feel so special by his father’s hands and fingers and mouth and tongue. Anything V asked Vergil to do was met with considerate diligence, until V was writhing and nearly crying out from the way Vergil touched him. V came long before he’d felt Vergil’s cock inside him. And he came again before Vergil finally did, spilling his hot and thick cum into the dip of V’s hipbone.

V didn’t care about being dirty, but Vergil took the time to clean them up anyway. Then V pulled him back into his bed, demanding to be held, kissed, and fucked again. Vergil managed to talk him into resting, but only with the promise of more later. There was always going to be a “later,” where they could make more memories and fix all the terribly broken things that stood between them and happiness. 

_ Later _ would arrive far too fast. 

Later would also be so far  _ away _ ...


End file.
